ISHA 

J|     "V--      fci     yi^fc       ,'k.'. 


858E 


UNDER  THE   ROSE 


UNDER 
THE  ROSE 

BY 

FREDERIC   S.  ISHAM 

AUTHOR    OF    THE    STROLLERS 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 

HOWARD  CHANDLER 

CHRISTY 


THE    BOBBS-MERRILL    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  :  INDIANAPOLIS 


COPYRIGHT  NINETEEN  HUNDRED  THREE 
THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  COMPANY 

JANUARY 


PRESS   OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN.   N.  V. 


UNDER  THE   ROSE 


2227860 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I  A  NEST  OF  NINNIES  1 

II  A  ROYAL  EAVESDROPPER  14 

III  A  GIFT  FOR  THE  DUKE  27 

IV  AN  IMPATIENT  SUITOR  40 
V  JACQUELINE  FETCHES  THE  PRINCESS'  FAN  53 

VI  THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  DUKE  67 

VII  THE  COURT  OF  LOVE  82 

VIII  A  BRIEF  TRUCE  101 

IX  THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  FOOL  121 

X  THE  FOOL  RETURNS  TO  THE  CASTLE  135 

XI  A  NEW  MESSENGER  TO  THE  EMPEROR  149 

XII  THE  DUKE  ENTERS  THE  LISTS  169 

XIII  A  CHAPLET  FOR  THE  DUKE  183 

XIV  AN  EARLY  MORNING  VISIT  202 
XV  A  NEW  DISCOVERY  217 

XVI  TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT  229 

XVII  JACQUELINE'S  QUEST  245 

XVIII  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  JESTERS  258 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX  A  FIGURE  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT  274 

XX  AN  UNEQUAL  CONFLICT  292 

XXI  THE  DESERTED  HUT  312 

XXII  THE  TALE  OF  THE  SWORD  822 

XXIII  THE  DWARF  MAKES  AN  EARLY  CALL  888 

XXIV  AN  ENCOUNTER  AT  THE  BRIDGE  851 
XXV  IN  THE  TENT  OF  THE  EMPEROR  865 

XXVI  THE  DEBT  OF  NATURE  877 

XXVII  A  MAID  OF  FRANCE  894 

XXVIII  THE  FAVORITE  IS  ALARMED  404 

XXIX  THE  FAVORITE  IS  REASSURED  416 


UNDER  THE   ROSE 


UNDER  THE  ROSE 


CHAPTER  I 

A   NEST  OF   NINNIES 

"A  song,  sweet  Jacqueline !" 

"No,  no—" 

"Jacqueline ! — Jacqueline ! — " 

"No  more,  I  say — " 

A  jingle  of  tinkling  bells  mingled  with  the  squeak  of 
a  viola;  the  guffaws  of  a  rompish  company  blended 
\\  ith  the  tuneless  chanting  of  discordant  minstrels,  and 
the  gray  parrot  in  its  golden  cage,  suspended  from 
one  of  the  oaken  beams  of  the  ceiling,  shook  its  feath- 
ers for  the  twentieth  time  and  screamed  vindictively 
at  the  roguish  band. 

Jingle,  jingle,  went  the  merry  bells ;  squeak,  squeak, 
the  tightened  strings  beneath  the  persistent  scraping  of 
the  rosined  bow.  On  his  throne  in  Fools'  hall,  Tri- 

i 


2  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

boulet,  the  king's  hunchback,  leaned  complacently 
back,  his  eyes  bent  upon  a  tapestry  but  newly  hung 
in  that  room,  the  meeting  place  of  jesters,  buffoons 
and  versifiers. 

"We  appeal  to  Triboulet— " 

"Triboulet!" 

A  girl's  silvery  laugh  rang  out. 

"Triboulet !" 

Again  the  derisive  musical  tones. 

Upon  his  chair  of  state,  the  dwarf  did  not  answer ; 
professed  not  to  hear.  By  the  uncertain  glimmer  of 
torches  and  the  flickering  glow  of  the  fire  he  was  en- 
gaged in  tracing  a  resemblance  to  himself  in  the  cen- 
tral figure  of  the  composition  wrought  in  threads  of 
silk — Momus,  fool  by  patent  to  Jove,  thrust  from 
Olympus  and  greeting  the  earth-born  with  a  great 
grin. 

"An  excellent  likeness!"  muttered  Triboulet.  "A 
very  pretty  likeness!"  he  continued,  swelling  with 
pride. 

And  truly  it  was  said  that  sprightly  ladies,  working 
between  love  and  pleasure  times,  drew  from  the  court 
fool  for  their  conception  of  the  mythological  buffoon, 
reproducing  Triboulet's  great  head;  his  mouth,  pro- 
portionately large;  his  protruding  eyes;  his  bowed 
back,  short,  twisted  legs  and  long,  muscular  arms ;  and 


A   NEST   OF   NINNIES  3 

his  nose  far  larger  than  that  of  Francis,  who  otherwise 
had  the  largest  nose  in  the  kingdom. 

But  how  could  they  depict  the  meanness  of  soul 
that  dwelt  in  that  extraordinary  shell?  The  blithe- 
some tapestry-makers,  albeit  adepts  in  form,  grace  and 
harmony,  could  not  touch  the  subjectiveness  of  exist- 
ence. Thus  it  was  a  double  pleasure  for  Triboulet  to 
see,  limned  in  well-chosen  hues,  his  form,  the  crooked- 
ness of  which  he  was  as  proud  as  any  courtier  of 
his  symmetry  and  beauty,  the  while  his  dark,  vain  soul 
lay  concealed  behind  the  mask  of  merry  deformity  and 
laughing  monstrosity. 

"Would  your  Majesty  like  to  command  me?" 

The  mocking  feminine  voice  recalled  Triboulet  from 
his  pleasing  contemplation. 

"No,  no!"  he  answered,  sullenly,  and  condescended 
to  turn  his  glance  upon  the  assemblage. 

Over  a  goodly  gathering  of  jesters,  buffoons,  poets, 
and  even  philosophers,  he  lorded  it,  holding  his  head  as 
high  as  his  hump  would  permit  and  conscious  of  his 
own  place  in  the  esteem  of  the  king.  Not  long  ago 
the  monarch  had  laughed  and  applauded  when  Tribou- 
let had  twisted  his  features  into  a  horrid  grimace,  and 
since  then  the  dwarf's  little  heart  had  expanded  with 
such  arrogance,  it  seemed  to  him  he  was  almost  Francis 
himself  as  he  sat  there  on  Francis'  sometime  throne; 


4  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

and  these  Sir  Jolly s  were  his  subjects  all — Marot, 
Caillette,  Brusquet,  Villot,  and  the  lesser  lights,  jesters 
of  barons,  cardinals  and  even  bishops!  Rabelais,  too, 
that  poor,  dissolute  devil  of  a  writer,  learned  as  Ho- 
mer, brutish  as  Homer's  swine — all  subjects  of  his, 
the  king  of  jesters,  save  one;  one  whom  he  eyed  with 
certain  fear  and  wonder;  fear,  because  she  was  a 
woman — and  Triboulet  esteemed  all  the  sex  but  "high- 
ly perfected  devils" — and  wonder,  at  finding  her  dif- 
ferent from,  and  more  perplexing  than  even  the  rest  of 
her  kind ! 

"Jacqueline ! — " 

Now  she  was  perched  on  one  corner  of  the  table,  and 
her  face  had  a  witch-like  loveliness,  as  though  borrow- 
ing its  pallor  and  beauty  from  the  moon,  source  of  all 
magic  and  necromancy.  Her  eyes  shone  with  such 
luster  that,  seeking  their  hue,  they  held  the  observer's 
gaze  in  mocking  languor,  and  cheated  the  inquisitive 
coxcomb  of  his  quest,  the  while  the  disdainful  lips 
curved  laughingly  and  so  bewildered  him,  he  forgot 
the  customary  phrases  and  stood  staring  like  a  nonny. 
Her  footstep  fell  so  light,  she  was  so  agile  and  quick, 
the  superstitious  dwarf  swore  she  was  but  a  creature 
of  the  night  and  held  surreptitious  meetings  with  all 
the  familiar  spirits  of  demonology.  As  she  never  de- 
nied the  uncanny  imputation,  but  only  displayed  her 


A    NEST    OF    NINNIES  5 

small  white  teeth  maliciously,  by  way  of  answer,  Tri- 
boulet  felt  assured  he  was  right  and  crossed  himself 
religiously  whenever  she  gazed  too  fixedly  at  him. 

A  most  gracieuse  folle,  her  dress  was  in  keeping 
With  her  character,  yellow  being  the  predominating 
color.  To  the  fanciful  adornment  of  the  gown  her 
lithe  figure  lent  itself  readily,  while  her  rebellious  curls 
were  well  adapted  to  that  badge  of  her  servitude,  the 
jaunty  cap  that  crowned  their  waving  abundance. 

In  .especial  disdain,  from  her  position  upon  the  cor- 
ner of  the  table,  her  glance  wandered  down  the  board 
and  rested  on  Rabelais,  the  gourmand,  before  whom 
were  an  empty  trencher  and  tankard.  The  priest- 
doctor-writer-scamp  who  affected  the  company  of  jest- 
ers and  liked  not  a  little  the  hospitality  of  Fools'  hall, 
which  adjoined  the  pastry  branch  of  the  castle  kitchen 
and  was  not  far  removed  from  the  wine  butts,  had 
just  unrolled  a  bundle  of  manuscript,  all  daubed 
with  trencher  grease  and  tankard  drippings,  and  was 
about  to  read  aloud  the  strange  adventures  of  one 
Pantagruel,  when,  overcome  by  indulgence,  his  head 
fell  forward  on  the  table,  almost  in  the  wooden  platter, 
and  the  papers  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

"Put  him  out !"  commanded  Triboulet  from  his  high 
place. 

But  sHe  of  the  jaunty  cap  sprang  from  the  table. 


6  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"How  wise  are  your  Majesty's  decrees!"  she  said 
mockingly  with  her  glance  upon  the  dwarf.  He  shifted 
uneasily  in  the  throne.  "You  should  have  put  him 
out  before!  But  now" — turning  contemptuously  to 
the  poor  figure  of  the  great  man — "he's  harmless.  His 
silence  is  golden ;  his  speech  was  dross." 

"And  yet,"  answered  Marot,  thoughtfully,  "the  king 
esteems  him;  the  king  who  is  at  once  scholar,  poet, 
wit,  soldier — " 

"Soldier!"  she  exclaimed,  quickly.  "When  he  can 
not  conquer  Italy  and  regain  his  heritage !" 

"Can  not?"  ventured  Triboulet,  mindful  of  the  dig- 
nity of  his  royal  master.  "Why  not  ?" 

"Because  the  women  would  conquer  him !" 

"Nay;  the  king  prefers  the  blue  eyes  of  France," 
spoke  up  the  cardinal's  fool,  he  of  the  viola. 

"Then  do  you  set  our  queen  of  fools,  our  fair  Jacque- 
line, out  of  his  Majesty's  good  graces,"  interposed  one 
of  the  lesser  jesters,  a  mere  baron's  hireling,  who  long 
had  burned  with  secret  admiration  for  the  maid  of  the 
coquettish  cap. 

"I  am  such  a  fool  as  to  want  the  good  graces  of  no 
man — or  monarch !"  she  replied  boldly,  without  glanc- 
ing at  the  speaker. 

"An  he  were  in  love,  you  would  be  two  fools!" 
laughed  Caillette,  the  court  poet. 


A    NEST    OF    NINNIES  7 

"In  love,  'tis  only  the  man  is  the  fool  or — the 
fooled!"  she  returned  pointedly,  and  Caillette,  despite 
his  self-possession,  flushed  painfully.  Since  Diane  de 
Poitiers  had  wedded  her  ancient  lord,  the  poet  had  be- 
come grave,  studious,  almost  sad. 

"And  is  your  mistress,  the  king's  ward,  fooling 
with  her  betrothed?"  he  asked  quickly,  conscious  of 
knowing  winks  and  nudges. 

"The  Princess  Louise  and  the  Duke  of  Friedwald 
are  to  wed  for  reasons  of  state,"  said  the  young  wom- 
an, gravely.  "There'll  be  no  fools." 

"Ah,  a  loveless  match!" 

"But  not  a  landless  one!"  retorted  she  of  the  cap 
without  the  bells.  "Besides,  it  cements  the  friendship 
of  Francis  and  Charles  V!  What  more  would  you? 
But  I'll  tell  you  a  secret." 

At  that  the  company  flocked  around  her,  as  though 
there  was  something  enticing  in  her  tone ;  the  vague 
promise  of  an  interesting  bit  of  gossip  or  the  indefinite 
suggestion  of  a  court  scandal. 

"A  secret!"  said  the  cardinal's  fool,  rubbing  his 
hands  together.  His  master  often  rewarded  him  for 
particularly  choice  morsels  of  loose  tittle-tattle. 

"Oh,  nothing  very  wicked!"  she  answered,  waving 
them  back  with  her  small  hand.  "  'Tis  only  that  they 
play  at  make-believe  in  love,  the  princess  and  her  be- 


8  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

trothed!  But  after  all,  it  is  far  more  sensible  than 
real  love-making,  where  if  the  pleasure  be  more  acute, 
the  pangs  are  therefore  the  greater.  She  addresses  to 
him  the  tenderest  counterfeit  verses ;  he  returns  them 
in  kind.  She  even  simulated  such  an  illusory  sadness 
that  the  duke  has  sent  his  own  jester,  who  has  but 
just  arrived  at  court,  to  amuse  her  (ahem!)  dullness, 
until  he  himself  could  come !" 

At  this  the  cardinal's  buffoon  looked  disappointed, 
for  his  master  liked  more  highly-flavored  hearsay, 
while  Triboulet  frowned  and  brought  down  his  heavy 
fist  upon  the  arm  of  the  throne. 

"A  new  jester  forsooth !"  he  exclaimed. 

"And  why  not?"  Lifting  her  swart  brows,  quiz- 
zically. 

"We  are  already  overstocked  with  'prentice  fools," 
he  retorted,  looking  over  the  throng. 

"Ah,  you  fear  perhaps  some  one  may  depose  you?" 
remarked  Jacqueline  coldly. 

A  guarded  laugh  arose  from  the  gathering  and  the 
dwarf's  eyes  gleamed. 

"Depose  me,  Triboulet!"  he  shouted,  rising.  "Tri- 
boulet is  sovereign  lord  of  all  at  whom  he  mocks! 
His  wand  \s  mightier  than  an  episcopal  miter !" 

In    his    overweening    rage    and    vanity    he    fairly 


A    NEST    OF    NINNIES  9 

Crouched  before  the  throne,  eying  them  all  like  a  cat. 
His  thick  lips  trembled;  his  eyes  became  bloodshot. 
He  forgot  all  prudence. 

"Doth  not  the  king  himself  seek  my  advice?"  He 
laughed  horribly.  "Hath  not,  perhaps,  many  a  fair 
gentleman  been  burned — aye,  burned  to  ashes  as  a 
Calvinist ! — at  my  suggestion !" 

"Miserable  wretch!  Spy!"  exclaimed  the  young 
woman,  paler  than  a  lily,  as  she  bent  her  eyes,  with 
fully  opened  lids,  upon  him. 

As  if  to  shield  himself,  he  raised  his  hand,  yet 
drunkenness  or  wrath  overcame  caution  and  super- 
stition, and  the  red  eyes  met  the  dark  ones.  But  a 
moment,  and  the  former  dropped  sullenly;  a  strange 
thrill  ran  through  him.  He  thought  he  was  bewitched. 

"Non  nobis  Domine!"  he  murmured,  striving  to  re- 
call a  hymn.  As  Latin  was  the  language  of  witch- 
craft, so,  also,  was  it  the  antidote.  Contemptuously 
she  turned  her  back  and  walked  slowly  to  the  fire. 
Upon  her  white  face  and  supple  figure  played  the 
elfish  glow,  lighting  the  little  cap  and  the  waving 
tresses  beneath. 

Regarding  her  furtively,  Triboulet's  courage  re- 
turned, since  she  was  looking  at  the  coals,  not  at  him. 


io  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Ho,  ho !"  he  said  jocosely.  "You  all  thought  I  was 
sincere.  Listen,  my  children  !  The  art  of  fooling-  lies 
in  trumped-up  earnestness."  He  smiled  hideously. 

"Bravo,  Triboulet !"  cried  an  admiring  voice. 

"Only  time  and  art  can  give  you  such  mastery  over 
the  passions,"  continued  the  jester.  "Which  one  of 
you  would  depose  me?  Who  so  ugly  as  I?  Poets, 
philosophers !  I  snap  my  fingers  at  them.  Poor 
moths!  And  you  dare  bait  me  with  a  new-comer! 
Let  him  look  to  himself !"  From  earnestness  to  grand- 
iloquence was  but  a  step. 

"Let  him  come !"  And  Triboulet,  imitating  the  pose 
of  Francis  himself,  drew  his  wooden  sword. 

"Let  him  come!"  he  repeated,  fiercely. 

"Who  ?"  called  out  a  gay  and  reckless  voice. 

Through  the  doorway  leading  into  the  kitchen 
stepped  a  young  man;  slender,  almost  boyish  in  ap- 
pearance, with  light-brown  hair  and  deep-set  eyes  that 
belied  the  gaiety  and  mirth  of  his  features.  His  cos- 
tume, that  of  a  jester,  was  silk  of  finest  texture  and 
design,  upon  which  were  skilfully  fashioned  in  threads 
of  silver  the  arms  of  Charles  V,  King  of  Spain  and 
Emperor  of  Germany,  the  powerful  rival  of  Francis, 
whose  friendship  now,  for  reasons  of  state,  the  latter 
sought. 

Smilingly  the  foreign  jester  gazed  around  the  room; 


A    NEST    OF    NINNIES  II 

at  the  unusual  furnishings,  picturesque,  yet  appropri- 
ate ;  at  the  inmates,  the  fools  scattered  about  the  great 
board  or  near  the  mighty  fireplace ;  the  renowned 
philosopher,  Rabelais,  sleeping  on  his  arms,  with  hand 
outstretched  toward  the  neglected  tankard;  at  the 
striking  appearance  of  the  girl  who  looked  with  casual, 
careless  interest  upon  him ;  at  the  grotesque,  crook- 
backed  figure  before  the  throne. 

And  observing  the  incongruity  of  his  surroundings, 
he  laughed  lightly,  while  his  glance,  turning  inquir- 
ingly if  not  insolently,  from  one  to  the  other,  lingered 
in  some  surprise  upon  the  young  woman.  He  had 
heard  that  in  far-away  France  the  motley  was  not  con- 
fined to  men.  Had  not  Jeanne,  queen  of  Charles  I, 
possessed  her  jestress,  Artaude  de  Puy,  "folle  to  our 
dear  companion,"  as  said  the  king  ?  Had  not  Madame 
d'Or,  wearer  of  the  bells,  kept  the  nobles  laughing? 
Had  not  the  haughty,  eccentric  Don  John,  his  hand- 
some, merry  joculatrix,  attached  to  his  princely  house- 
hold? 

But  knowing  only  by  rumor  of  these  matters,  the 
jester  from  abroad  looked  hard  at  her,  the  first  mad- 
cap in  petticoats  he  had  ever  seen.  For  her  part, 
Jacqueline  bore  his  scrutiny  with  visible  annoyance. 

"Well,"  she  said  impatiently,  a  flash  of  resentment 
in  her  fine  eyes,  "have  you  conned  me  over  enough?'* 


12  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Too  much,  mistress,"  he  replied  in  no  wise  abashed, 
"an  it  hath  displeased  you.  Too  little  to  please  my- 
self." 

"Yourself !"  she  returned,  with  sudden  anger  at  his 
persistent  gaze.  "Some  lord's  plaything  to  beat  or 
whip ;  a  toy — " 

"And  yet  a  poet  who  can  make  rhymes  on  woman's 
beauty,"  he  answered  with  a  careless  laugh. 

"Another  courtier!"  grumbled  Triboulet.  "Lack- 
ing true  wit,  fools  nowadays  essay  only  compliments 
to  cover  their  dullness." 

With  the  same  air  of  insolent  amusement,  the  new- 
comer turned  to  the  throne  and  its  occupant,  whom  he 
subjected  to  an  even  more  deliberate  investigation. 

"Is  it  man  or  manikin,  gentle  mistress?"  he  asked, 
after  concluding  his  examination. 

She  did  not  deign  to  answer,  but  the  offended  Tri- 
boulet waved  his  wooden  sword  vindictively. 

"Manikin !"  he  roared,  and  sprang  with  vicious 
lunges  upon  the  duke's  jester,  who  falling  back  before 
the  suddenness  of  the  assault,  whipped  out  his  weapon 
in  turn,  and,  laughing,  threw  himself  into  an  attitude 
of  defense. 

"A  mortal  combat !"  cried  the  cardinal's  wit-snapper. 

"Charles  V  and  Francis!"  exclaimed  Caillette,  re- 
ferring to  the  personal  challenge  which  had  once 


A    NEST    OF    NINNIES  13 

passed  between  the  two  great  monarchs.  "With  a 
throne  for  the  victor!"  he  added  gaily,  indicating 
Triboulet's  chair  of  state. 

The  clatter  and  din  awoke  Rabelais,  who  drowsily 
regarded  the  combatants  with  lack-luster  gaze  and 
undoubtedly  thought  himself  once  more  amid  the  fan- 
ciful conflicts  of  fearful  giants. 

"Fall  to,  Pantagruel,  my  merry  Paladin!"  he  ex- 
claimed bombastically.  "Cut,  slash,  stab,  fence  and 
justle!"  And  himself,  reaching  for  an  imaginary 
sword,  encountered  the  tankard  which  he  would  have 
raised  to  his  lips  but  that  his  shaggy  head  fell  again 
to  the  board  before  his  willing  arm  had  obeyed  the 
passing  impulse  of  his  sluggish  brain. 

"Fence! — justle!"  he  murmured,  and  slept  once 
more. 

But  the  parrot,  again  disturbed,  could  not  so  easily 
compose  itself  to  slumber.  Whipping  its  head  from 
its  downy  nest,  it  outspread  its  gray  wings  gloriously 
and  screamed  and  shouted,  as  though  venting  all  the 
thunders  of  the  Vatican  upon  the  offending  bellig- 
erents. And  above  the  uproar  and  noise  of  arms,  rab- 
ble and  bird,  arose  the  piercing  voice  of  Triboulet : 

"Watch  me  spit  this  bantam-cock !" 


CHAPTER   II 

A   ROYAL   EAVESDROPPER 

Tough  and  sharp-pointed,  a  wooden  sword  was  no 
insignificant  weapon,  wielded  by  the  thews  and  sinews 
of  a  Triboulet.  Crouching  like  an  animal,  the  king's 
buffoon  sprang  with  headlong  fury,  uttering  hoarse, 
guttural  sounds  that  awakened  misgivings  regarding 
the  fate  of  his  too  confident  antagonist. 

"Do  not  kill  him,  Triboulet!"  cried  Marot,  alarmed 
lest  the  duke's  fool  should  be  slain  outright.  "Re- 
member he  has  journeyed  from  the  court  of  Charles 
V!" 

"Charles  V!"  came  through  Triboulet's  half-closed 
teeth.  "My  master's  one  great  enemy!" 

"Hush!"  muttered  Villot.  "Our  master's  enemy 
is  now  his  dear  friend!" 

"Friend !"  sneered  the  other,  but  even  as  he  thrust, 
his  sword  tingled  sharply  in  his  hand,  and,  whisked 
magically  out  of  his  grip,  described  a  curve  in  the 
air  and  fell  at  a  far  end  of  the  room.  At  the  same 

14 


A    ROYAL    EAVESDROPPER      15 

time  a  stinging  blow  descended  smartly  on  the  dwarf's 
hump. 

"Pardon  me !"  laughed  the  duke's  fool.  "Being  un- 
used to  such  exercise,  my  blade  fell  by  mistake  on  your 
back." 

If  looks  could  have  killed,  Triboulet  would  have 
achieved  his  original  purpose,  but  after  a  vindictive 
though  futile  glance  his  head  drooped  despondently. 
To  have  been  thus  humiliated  before  those  whom  he 
regarded  as  his  vassals !  What  jest  could  restore  him 
the  prestige  he  had  enjoyed ;  what  play  of  words  efface 
the  shame  of  that  public  chastisement?  Had  he  been 
beaten  by  the  king — but  thus  to  suffer  at  the  hand 
of  a  foreign  fool !  And  the  monarch — would  he  learn 
of  it? — the  punishment  of  the  royal  jester?  As  in  a 
dream,  he  heard  the  hateful  voices  of  the  company. 

"  'Tjs  not  the  first  time  he  has  been  wounded — 
there !"  said  fearless  Caillette,  who  openly  acknowl- 
edged his  aversion  for  the  king's  favorite  fool.  "But 
be  seated,  gentle  sir,"  he  added  to  the  stranger,  "and 
share  our  rough  hospitality." 

"Rough,  certes!"  commented  the  other,  as  he  re- 
turned his  blade  to  his  belt.  "And  as  I  see  no  stool — " 

"There's  the  throne !"  returned  Caillette,  courteous- 
ly. "Since  you  have  overcome  Triboulet,  his  place  is 
yours." 


16  UNDERTHEROSE 

"A  precarious  place!"  said  the  new-comer,  easily, 
dropping,  nevertheless,  into  the  chair. 

"The  king  is  dead!  Long  live  the  king!"  cried 
the  cardinal's  jester. 

"Long  live  the  king!"  they  shouted,  every  fool  and 
zany  raising  a  tankard,  save  the  dwarf  and  the  young 
woman,  the  former  continuing  to  glare  vindictively 
upon  the  usurper,  and  the  latter  to  all  intent  remain- 
ing oblivious  of  the  ceremony  of  installation.  Poised 
upon  a  chair,  she  idly  thrust  her  fingers  through  the 
gilded  bars  of  the  cage  that  hung  from  the  rafters  and 
gently  stroked  the  head  of  the  now  complaisant  bird. 

"Poor  Jocko !     Poor  Jocko !"  she  murmured. 

"La! — la! — la! — "  sang  the  parrot,  responsive  to 
her  light  caress. 

"Your  Majesty's  wishes !  Your  Majesty's  decree !" 
exclaimed  the  monastic  wit-worm. 

"Hear!  hear!"  roared  Brusquet. 

"Silence!"  commanded  Marot.  "His  Majesty 
speaks." 

"Toot !  toot !  toot !"  rang  out  the  flourish  of  a  trum- 
pet, a  clarion  prelude  to  the  fiat  from  the  throne. 

The  new  king  in  motley  arose ;  heedless,  devil-may- 
care,  very  erect  in  his  preposterously  pointed  shoes. 

"I  appoint  you,  Thony,  treasurer  of  the  exchequer, 
because  you  are  quick  at  sleight-of-hand,"  he  began. 


A    ROYAL    EAVESDROPPER      17 

"Good,"  laughed  Marot.  "An  he's  more  light- 
fingered  than  his  predecessor,  he's  a  master  of  presti- 
digitation !" 

"You,  Brusquet,"  went  on  the  new  master  of  Fool's 
hall,  "I  reward  with  the  government  of  Guienne,  for 
he  who  governs  his  own  house  so  ill  is  surely  fitted  for 
greater  tasks  of  incompetency." 

This  allusion  to  the  petticoat  rule  which  dominated 
the  luckless  jester  at  home  was  received  in  good  part 
by  all  save  the  hapless  domestic  bondman  himself. 

"You,  Villot,  are  made  admiral  of  the  fleet." 

Villot  smiled,  thinking  how  Francis  had  but  recently 
bestowed  that  office  upon  the  impoverished  husband  of 
pretty  Madame  d'Etaille. 

"Thanks,  your  Majesty,"  he  began,  "but  if  some 
post  nearer  home — " 

"You  are  to  sail  at  once !" 

"But  my  wife — " 

"Will  remain  at  court !"  announced  the  duke's  jester 
with  great  decision. 

Villot  made  a  wry  face.  The  king  in  motley  smiled 
significantly.  "A  safe  haven,  Villot!  Besides,  re- 
member a  court  without  ladies  is  like  a  spring  without 
flowers." 

A  movement  resembling  apprehension  swept 
through  the  company.  The  epigram  had  been  Fran- 


i8  UNDERTHEROSE 

cis';  the  court — a  flower-bed  of  roses — was,  in  conse- 
quence, a  thorny  maze  for  a  jester  to  tread.  From  her 
chair  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  the  young  woman 
looked  at  the  new-comer  for  the  first  time  since  his 
enthronement.  Her  fingers  yet  played  between  the 
gilded  bars ;  the  posture  she  had  assumed  set  forth  the 
pliant  grace  of  her  figure.  Above  the  others,  she 
glanced  at  him,  her  hair  very  black  against  the  golden 
cage;  her  arm,  very  white,  half  unsheathed  from  the 
great  hanging  sleeve. 

"You  are  over-bold,"  she  said,  a  peculiar  smile  upon 
her  lips. 

"Nay;  I  have  spoken  no  treason,  mistress,"  he  re- 
torted blithely. 

"Not  by  word  of  mouth,  perhaps,  but  by  imputa- 
tion." 

He  raised  his  brows  with  a  gesture  of  wanton  pro- 
test, while  the  face  before  him  clouded.  Her  eyes 
held  his;  her  little  teeth  just  gleamed  between  the 
crimson  of  her  lips. 

"I  presume  you  consider  Charles  the  more  fitting 
monarch?"  she  continued. 

Was  it  the  disdain  of  her  voice?  Did  she  read  his 
passing  thoughts?  Did  she  challenge  him  to  utter 
them? 

"In  truth,"  the  jester  said  carelessly,  "Charles  builds 


A    ROYAL    EAVESDROPPER      19 

fortresses,  not  pleasure  palaces;  and  garrisons  them 
with  soldiers,  not  ladies." 

She  half-smiled.  Her  glance  fell.  Her  hand  moved 
caressingly,  the  sleeve  waving  beneath. 

"Poor  Jocko !  Poor  Jocko !"  she  murmured. 

Triboulet's  glance  beamed  with  delight.  She  was 
casting  her  spell  over  his  enemy. 

"Oh,"  muttered  Triboulet,  "if  the  king  could  but 
have  heard !" 

Perhaps  it  was  a  breath  of  air,  but  the  tapestry  de- 
picting the  misadventures  of  Momus  waved  and 
moved.  Triboulet,  who  noted  everything,  saw  this, 
and  suffered  an  expression  of  triumph  momentarily  to 
rest  upon  his  malignant  features.  Had  his  prayer 
been  answered?  "A  spring  without  flowers,"  for- 
sooth! Dearly  cherished  the  august  gardener  his 
beautiful  roses.  Great  red  roses;  white  roses;  blos- 
soms yet  unopened! 

Following  his  gaze,  a  significant  light  appeared  in 
the  young  woman's  eyes,  while  her  arm  fell  to  her 
side. 

"Now  to  see  Presumption  sue  for  pardon,"  she  whis- 
pered to  herself. 

One  by  one  the  company,  too,  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion Triboulet  was  looking.  In  portraiture  the  classic- 
al buffoon  grinned  and  gibed  at  them  from  the  tapes- 


20  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

try;  and  even  from  his  high  station  above  the  clouds 
Jupiter,  who  had  ejected  the  offending  fool  of  the 
gods,  looked  less  stern  and  implacable.  An  expectant 
hush  fell  upon  the  assemblage,  when  suddenly  Jove 
and  Momus  alike  were  unceremoniously  thrust  aside, 
and,  as  the  folds  fell  slowly  back,  before  the  many- 
hued  curtain  stood  a  man  of  stately  and  majestic  mien. 

A  man  whose  appearance  caused  deep-seated  con- 
sternation, whose  forbidding  aspect  made  the  very 
silence  portentous  and  terrifying.  With  dress  slashed 
and  laced,  rich  in  jewelry  and  precious  stones,  he  re- 
mained motionless,  regarding  the  motley  gathering, 
while  an  ominous  half-smile  played  about  his  features. 
He  said  nothing,  but  his  reserve  was  more  sinister 
than  language.  Capricious,  cruel  was  his  face;  in  his 
eyes  shone  covert  enjoyment  of  the  situation. 

Would  he  never  speak  ?  With  one  hand  he  stroked 
his  beard ;  with  the  other  he  toyed  with  the  lace  on  his 
doublet. 

"You  were  talking,  children,"  he  said,  finally,  "be- 
fore I  came  in." 

"If  your  Majesty,"  ventured  Triboulet,  "has  heard 
all,  your  Majesty  will  not  blame — us!"  And  he 
glanced  malevolently  toward  the  duke's  jester,  who, 
upon  the  king's  abrupt  entrance,  had  descended  from 
the  platform. 


rA    ROYAL    EAVESDROPPER     21 

Observing  the  emblazoned  arms  of  Charles  V  upon 
the  dress  of  the  culprit,  a  faint  look  of  surprise  swept 
Francis'  face.  Did  it  recall  that  fatal  day,  when  on 
the  field  of  battle,  a  rival  banner  had  waved  ever  illu- 
sively; ever  beyond  his  reach?  Now  it  shone  before 
him  as  though  mocking  his  friendship  for  his  one-time 
powerful  enemy,  the  only  man  he  feared,  the  emperor 
who  had  overthrown  him.  The  sinister  smile  of  the 
king  gave  way  to  gloomy  thoughtfulness. 

"Who  is  this  knave?"  he  asked  at  length,  fixedly 
regarding  the  erstwhile  badge  of  his  defeat. 

"A  poor  fool,  Sire !"  replied  the  kneeling  man. 

"Those  arms,  embroidered  on  your  dress — what 
do  they  mean  ?"  said  the  king  shortly. 

"The  arms  of  my  master's  master,  your  Majesty !" 
was  the  over-confident  answer. 

"Who  is  your  master?" 

"The  Duke  of  Friedwald,  Sire,  the  betrothed  of  the 
Princess  Louise." 

"And  your  purpose  here?" 

"My  master  sent  me  to  the  princess.  'I'll  miss 
thee,  rogue,'  said  he.  *  'Tis  proof  of  love  to  send  thee, 
my  merry  companion  of  the  wine  cup !  But  go !  Na- 
ture hath  formed  thee  to  conjure  sadness  from  a  lady's 
face.'  So  I  set  out  upon  my  perilous  journey,  and, 
favored  by  fortune,  am  but  safely  arrived.  I  was  e'en 


22  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

now  about  to  repair  to  the  princess,  whom  I  trust,  in 
my  humble  way,  to  amuse." 

"And  thou  shalt !"  said  the  king,  significantly. 

"Oh,  your  Majesty!"  with  assumed  modesty. 

"That  is,"  added  Francis,  "if  it  will  amuse  her  to 
see  you  Hanged !" 

"And  if  it  did  not  amuse  her,  Sire?"  spoke  up  the 
new-comer,  without  a  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"What  then?"  asked  the  king. 

"It  would  be  a  breach  of  hospitality  to  hang  me,  the 
servant  of  the  duke  who  is  servant  of  Charles  V !"  he 
replied  boldly. 

Francis  started.  Like  a  menace  shone  the  arms  of 
the  great  emperor.  Vividly  he  recalled  his  own 
humiliation,  his  long  captivity,  and  mistrusted  the 
power  of  his  subtile,  amiable  friend-enemy.  Friend- 
ship? Sweeter  was  hatred.  But  the  promptings  of 
wisdom  had  suggested  the  policy  of  peace;  the  reins 
of  expediency  drove  him,  autocrat  or  slave,  to  the  doc- 
trines of  loving  brotherhood.  He  turned  his  gloomy 
eyes  upon  the  glowing  countenance  of  Triboulet. 

"What  say  you,  fool?" 

"Your  Majesty,"  answered  the  eager  dwarf,  "could 
hang  him  without  breach  of  hospitality." 

"How  do  you  make  that  good,  Triboulet?"  asked 
the  monarch'. 


A    ROYAL    EAVESDROPPER     23 

"The  duke  has  given  him  to  the,  princess.  The 
princess  is  a  subject  of  your  Majesty.  The  king  of 
France  has  jurisdiction  over  the  princess'  fool  and 
surely  can  proceed  in  so  small  a  matter  as  hanging 
him." 

Francis  bent  a  malignant  look  upon  the  young  man. 
Behind  the  dwarf  stood  the  jestress,  now  an  earnest 
spectator  of  the  scene. 

"This  new-comer's  stay  with  us  promises  to  be 
brief,  Caillette,"  she  whispered. 

i     "Hark,    you    witch!     He    answers,"    returned   the 
poet. 

"What  can  he  say?"  she  retorted,  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  "He  is  already  condemned." 

"Are  you  pleased,  mistress  ?  Just  because  the  poor 
fellow  stared  at  you  overmuch." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  insensibly,  "it  was  written  he  should 
hang  himself.  Now  we'll  hear  how  ably  Audacity 
parleys  with  Fate." 

"It  would  be  no  breach  of  hospitality,  Sire,  to  hang 
the  princess'  fool,"  spoke  the  condemned  man  with  no 
sign  of  waning  confidence,  "yet  it  would  seem  to  de- 
preciate the  duke's  gift.  Your  Majesty  should  hang 
the  one  and  spare  the  other.  'Tis  a  matter  of  logic," 
he  went  on  quickly,  "to  point  out  where  the  duke's 
gift  ends  and  the  princess'  fool  begins.  A  gift  is  a 


24  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

gift  until  it  is  received.  The  princess  has  not  yet  re- 
ceived the  duke's  gift.  Therefore,  your  Majesty  can 
not  hang  me,  as  the  princess'  fool ;  nor  would  your 
Majesty  desire  to  hang  me  as  the  duke's  gift." 

Imperceptibly  the  monarch's  mien  relaxed,  for  next 
to  a  contest  with  blades  he  liked  the  quick  play  of 
words. 

"Answer  him,  Triboulet,"  he  said. 

"Your  Majesty — your  Majesty — "  stammered  the 
dwarf,  and  paused  in  despair,  his  wits  failing  him  at 
the  critical  juncture. 

"Enough!"  commanded  the  king,  sternly.  A  sound 
of  suppressed  merriment  even  as  he  spoke  startled  the 
gathering.  "Who  laughed?"  he  cried  suddenly. 
"Was  it  you,  mistress?"  fastening  his  eyes  upon  the 
young  woman. 

Her  head  fell  lower  and  lower  like  some  dark 
flower  on  a  slender  stem.  From  out  of  the  veil  of  her 
mazy  hair  came  a  voice,  soft  with  seeming  humility. 

"It  might  have  been  Jocko,  Sire,"  she  said.  "He 
sometimes  laughs  like  that." 

The  king  looked  from  the  woman  to  the  bird ;  then 
from  the  bird  to  the  woman,  a  gleam  of  recollection 
in  his  glance. 

"Humph!"  he  muttered.  "Is  this  where  you  serve 
your  mistress !  Look  to  it  you  serve  not  yourself  ill !" 


A    ROYAL    EAVESDROPPER     25 

An  instant  her  eyes  flashed  upward. 

"My  mistress  is  at  prayers,"  she  answered,  and 
looked  down  again  as  quickly. 

"And  you  meanwhile  prefer  the  drollery  of  these 
madcaps  to  the  attentions  of  our  courtiers  ?"  said  Fran- 
cis, more  gently.  "Certes  are  you  gipsy-born!" 

Her  hands  clasped  tighter,  but  she  answered  not, 
and  he  turned  more  sternly  to  the  new  king  of  the 
motley.  "As  for  you,"  he  continued,  "for  the  present 
the  duke's  gift  is  spared.  But  let  the  princess'  fool 
look  to  himself.  Remember,  a  guarded  tongue  in- 
sures a  ripe  old  age,  and  even  a  throne  in  Fools' 
hall  is  fraught  with  hazard.  Here !  some  of  you,  take 
this" — indicating  the  sleeping  Rabelais — "and  throw 
it  into  the  horse-pond.  Yet  see  that  he  does  not  drown 
— your  heads  upon  it!  Tis  to  him  France  looks  for 
learning." 

He  paused;  glanced  back  at  the  kneeling  girl. 
"You,  Mistress  Who-Seeks-to-Hide-Her-Face,  teach 
that  parrot  not  to  laugh !"  he  added  grimly. 

The  tapestry  waved.  Mute  the  motley  throng 
stared  where  the  king  had  stood.  A  light  hand 
touched  the  arm  of  the  duke's  fool,  and,  turning,  he 
beheld  the  young  woman;  her  eyes  were  alight  with 
new  fire. 


26  .    UNDERTHEROSE 

"In  God's  name,"  she  exclaimed,  passionately,  "let 
us  leave.  You  have  done  mischief  enough.  Follow 
me." 

"Where'er  you  will,"  he  responded  gallantly. 


CHAPTER   III 

A   GIFT  FOR  THE  DUKE 

The  sun  and  the  breeze  contended  with  the  mist,  in- 
trenched in  the  stronghold  of  the  valley.  From  the 
east  the  red  orb  began  its  attack ;  out  of  the  west  rode 
the  swift-moving  zephyrs,  and,  vanquished,  the  waver- 
ing vapor  stole  off  into  thin  air,  or  hung  in  isolated 
wreaths  above  the  foliage  on  the  hillside.  Soon  the 
conquering  light  brightly  illumined  a  medieval  castle 
commanding  the  surrounding  country;  the  victorious 
breeze  whispered  loudly  at  its  gloomy  casements.  A 
great  Norman  structure,  somber,  austere,  it  was,  how- 
ever brightened  with  many  modern  features  that 
threatened  gradually  to  sap  much  of  its  ancient 
majesty. 

"Fill  up  the  moat,"  Francis  had  ordered.  "  'Tis 
barbaric !  What  lover  would  sigh  beneath  walls  thirty 
feet  thick!  And  the  portcullis!  Away  with  it! 
Summon  my  Italian  painters  to  adorn  the  walls.  We 
may  yet  make  habitable  these  legacies  from  the  sav- 
age, brutal  past." 

27 


28  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

So  the  mighty  walls,  once  set  in  a  comparative 
wilderness,  a  tangle  of  thicket  and  underbrush,  now 
arose  from  garden,  lawn  and  park,  where  even  the 
deer  were  no  longer  shy,  and  the  water,  propelled  by 
artificial  power,  shot  upward  in  jets. 

Seated  at  a  window  which  overlooked  this  sylvan 
aspect,  modified  if  not  fashioned  by  man,  a  young 
woman  with  seeming  conscientiousness,  told  her  beads. 
The  apartment,  though  richly  furnished,  was  in  keep- 
ing with  the  devout  character  of  its  fair  mistress.  A 
brush  or  aspersorium,  used  for  sprinkling  holy  water, 
was  leaning  against  the  wall.  Upon  a  table  lay  an 
open  psalter,  with  its  long  hanging  cover  and  a  ball 
at  the  extremity  of  the  forel.  Behind  two  tall  candle- 
sticks stood  an  altar-table  which,  being  unfolded,  re- 
vealed three  compartments,  each  with  a  picture, 
painted  by  Andrea  del  Sarto,  the  once  honored  guest 
of  Francis. 

The  Princess  Louise,  cousin  of  Francis'  former 
queen,  Claude,  had  been  reared  with  rigid  strictness, 
although  provided  with  various  preceptors  who  had 
made  her  more  or  less  proficient  in  the  profane  letters, 
as  they  were  then  called,  Latin,  Greek,  theology  and 
philosophy.  The  fame  of  her  beauty  had  gone  abroad ; 
her  hand  had  been  often  sought,  but  the  obdurate  king 
had  steadfastly  refused  to  sanction  her  betrothal  until 


A     GIFT    FOR     THE    DUKE        29 

Charles,  the  emperor,  himself  proposed  a  union  be- 
tween the  fair  ward  of  the  French  monarch  and  one  of 
his  nobles,  the  young  Duke  of  Friedwald.  To  this 
Francis  had  assented,  for  he  calculated  upon  thus 
drawing  to  his  interests  one  of  his  rival's  most  chival- 
rous knights,  while  far-seeing  Charles  believed  he 
could  not  only  retain  the  duke,  but  add  to  his  own 
court  the  lovely  and  learned  ward  of  the  king. 

And  in  this  comedy  of  aggrandizement  the  puppets 
were  willing — as  puppets  must  needs  be.  Indeed,  the 
duke  was  seriously  enamored  of  the  princess,  whose 
portrait  he  had  seen  in  miniature,  and  had  himself 
importuned  the  emperor  to  intercede  with  Francis, 
knowing  that  the  only  way  to  the  lady's  hand  was 
through  the  good  offices  of  him  who  aspired  to  the 
mastery  of  all  Europe,  if  not  the  world. 

Charles,  unwilling  to  disoblige  one  whose  prin- 
cipality was  the  most  powerful  of  the  Austrian  prov- 
inces he  sought  to  absorb  in  his  scheme  for  the  unifica- 
tion of  all  nations,  offered  no  demur  to  a  request 
fraught  with  advantage  to  himself.  Besides,  cold  and 
calculating  though  he  was,  the  emperor  entertained  a 
certain  affection  for  the  duke,  who  on  one  occasion, 
when  Charles  had  been  sore  beset  by  the  troops  of 
Solyman,  had  extricated  his  royal  leader  from  the  al- 
ternatives of  ignominious  capture  or  an  untimely  end. 


30  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

Accordingly,  a  formal  proposal,  couched  in  language 
of  warm  friendship  to  the  king,  was  despatched  by  the 
emperor.  When  Francis,  with  some  misgiving,  aris- 
ing from  experience  with  womankind,  laid  the  matter 
before  Louise,  she,  to  his  surprise,  proved  her  devotion 
and  loyalty  by  her  entire  submissiveness,  and  the  king, 
kissing  her  hand,  generously  vowed  the  wedding  fes- 
tivities should  be  worthy  of  her  beauty  and  fealty. 

Was  she  thinking  of  that  scene  now  and  the  many 
messages  which  had  subsequently  passed  between  her 
distant  lover  and  herself,  as  the  white  fingers  ceased  to 
tell  the  beads?  Was  she  questioning  fate  and  the 
future  when  the  rosary  fell  from  her  hand  and  the 
clinking  of  the  great  glass  beads  on  the  hard  floor 
aroused  her  from  a  reverie?  Languidly  she  rose, 
crossed  the  room  toward  a  low  dressing  table,  when  at 
the  same  time  one  of  the  several  doors  of  the  apart- 
ment opened,  admitting  the  jestress,  Jacqueline,  whose 
long,  flowing  gown  of  dark  green  bore  no  distinguish- 
ing mark  of  the  motley  she  had  assumed  the  night  be- 
fore. The  dreamy,  almost  lethargic,  gaze  of  the 
princess  rested  for  a  moment  upon  the  ardent  eyes  of 
the  maid  who  stood  motionless  before  her. 

"The  duke's  jester  who  arrived  last  night  awaits 
your  pleasure  without,"  said  the  girl. 


A     GIFT    FOR     THE    DUKE        31 

"Bid  him  enter.  Stay!  The  fillet  for  my  hair. 
Seems  he  a  merry  fellow?" 

"So  merry,  Madam,  he  mimicked  the  king  last  night 
in  Fool's  hall,  beat  Triboulet,  appointed  knaves  in 
jest  to  high  offices,  and  had  been  hanged  for  his  for- 
wardness but  that  he  narrowly  saved  his  neck  by  a 
slender  device." 

"What;  all  that  in  so  short  a  time!"  exclaimed  the 
princess.  "A  most  presumptuous  rogue !" 

"The  king,  Madam,  was  behind  the  tapestry  and 
heard  it  all :  his  appointment  of  Thony  as  treasurer, 
because  he  is  apt  at  palming  money ;  Brusquet,  gov- 
ernor of  Guienne,  since  he  governs  his  own  home  so 
ill ;  and  Villot,  admiral  of  the  fleet,  that  he  might  sail 
away  and  leave  his  pretty  wife  behind  him." 

"I'll  warrant  me  the  story  is  known  to  the  entire 
court  ere  this,"  laughed  the  lady.  "Won't  Madame 
d'Etaille  be  in  a  temper!  And  the  admiral  when  he 
hears  of  it — on  the  high  seas !  The  king  was  eaves- 
dropping, you  say,  and  yet  spared  the  jester?  He 
must  bear  a  charmed  life." 

"He  dubbed  himself  the  duke's  gift,  Madam,  and 
boldly  claimed  privilege  under  the  poor  cloak  of  hos- 
pitality." 

"Surely,"  murmured  the  princess,  "there  will  be  no 


32  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

lack  of  entertainment  with  this  knave  under  the  same 
roof.  Too  much  entertainment,  I  fear  me.  Well,  ad- 
mit the  bold  fellow." 

Crossing  to  the  door,  the  maid  pushed  it  back  and 
the  figure  of  the  jester  passed  the  threshold: — a  figure 
so  graceful  and  well-built,  the  lady's  eyes,  turning  to- 
ward him  with  mild  inquiry,  lingered  with  approval; 
lingered,  and  were  upraised  to  a  fair,  handsome  face, 
when  approval  gave  way  to  wonder. 

Was  this  the  imprudent,  hot-brained  rogue  who  had 
swaggered  in  Fools'  hall,  and  made  a  farce  of  the  af- 
fairs of  the  nation?  His  countenance  seemed  that  of 
a  courtier  rather  than  a  low-born  scape-grace;  his 
bearing  in  consonance,  as,  approaching  the  princess, 
he  knelt  near  the  edge  of  her  sweeping  crimson  gar- 
ment. Quietly  the  maid  withdrew  to  a  corner  of  the 
apartment  where  she  seated  herself  on  a  low  stool,  her 
fingers  idly  playing  with  the  delicate  carvings  of  a 
vase  of  silver,  containing  water  that  had  been  blessed 
and  standing  conveniently  near  the  aspersorium. 

"You  come  from  the  Duke  of  Friedwald,  fool  ?"  said 
the  mistress,  recovering  from  her  surprise. 

"Yes,  Princess." 

Louise  smiled,  and  looked  toward  the  maid  as  if  to 
say:  "Why,  he's  a  model  of  decorum!"  but  the  girl 


A    GIFT    FOR    THE    DUKE        33 

continued  regarding  the  figures  on  the  vase,  seem- 
ingly indifferent  to  the  scene  before  her. 

"I  hear,  sirrah,  but  a  poor  account  of  your  behavior 
last  night,"  continued  the  princess.  "You  must  have 
a  care,  or  I  shall  send  you  back  to  the  duke  and  com- 
mand him  to  have  you  whipped.  You  have  been  here 
but  overnight,  yet  how  many  enemies  have  you  made  ? 
The  king;  the  admiral,  and — last  but  not  least — a 
certain  lady.  Poor  fool !  you  may  have  saved  your 
neck,  but  for  how  long?  Fie!  what  an  account  must 
I  give  of  you  to  your  master !" 

"Ah,  Madam,"  he  answered  quickly,  "you  show  me 
now  the  folly  of  it  all." 

"Let  me  see,"  she  went  on  more  gently,  "what  we 
may  do,  since  you  are  penitent?  The  king  may  for- 
give ;  the  admiral  forget,  but  the  lady — she  will  neither 
forget  nor  forgive.  Fortunately,  I  think  she  fears  to 
disoblige  me,  and,  if  I  let  it  be  known  you  are  an  in- 
dispensable part  of  my  household — "  she  paused 
thoughtfully — "besides,  she  has  a  little  secret  she 
would  keep  from  the  king.  Yes ;  the  secret  will  save 
you !"  And  Louise  smiled  knowingly,  as  one  who, 
although  most  devout,  perhaps  had  missed  a  few  paters 
or  credos  in  listening  to  idle  worldly  gossip. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  raising  his  head,  "you  overwhelm 
me  with  your  goodness." 


34  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Oh,  I  like  her  not;  a  most  designing  creature," 
returned  the  lady  carelessly.  "But  you  may  rise. 
Hand  me  that  embroidery,"  she  added  when  he  had 
obeyed.  "How  do  I  know  the  duke,  my  betrothed, 
whom  I  have  never  seen,  has  not  sent  you  to  report 
upon  my  poor  charms?  What  if  you  were  only  his 


emissary 


"Princess,"  he  answered,  "I  am  but  a  fool ;  no  emis- 
sary. If  I  were" — 

"Well?" 

She  smiled  indulgently  at  the  open  admiration  writ- 
ten so  boldly  upon  his  face,  and,  encouraged  by  her 
glance,  he  regarded  her  swiftly,  comprehensively;  the 
masses  of  hair  the  fillet  ill-confined;  eyes,  soft-lidded, 
dreamy  as  a  summer's  day;  a  figure,  pagan  in  gener- 
ous proportions;  a  foot,  however,  petite,  Parisian, 
peeping  from  beneath  a  robe,  heavy,  voluminous,  vivid ! 

"If  you  were?"  she  suggested,  passing  a  golden 
thread  through  the  cloth  she  held. 

"I  would  write  him  the  miniature  he  has  of  you 
told  but  half  the  truth." 

"So  you  have  seen  the  miniature?  It  lies  carelessly 
about,  no  doubt?"  Yet  her  tone  was  not  one  of  dis- 
pleasure. 

"The  duke  frequently  draws  it  from  his  breast  to 
look  at  it." 


A     GIFT    FOR     THE    DUKE        35 

"And  so  many  handsome  women  in  the  kingdom, 
too!"  laughed  the  princess.  "A  tiny,  paltry  bit  of 
vellum !" 

Her  lips  curled  indulgently,  as  of  a  person  sure  of 
herself.  Did  not  the  fool's  glance  pay  her  that  tribute 
to  which  she  was  not  a  stranger?  Her  lashes,  sud- 
denly lifted,  met  his  fully,  and  drove  his  look,  grown 
overbold,  to  cover.  The  princess  smiled;  she  might 
well  believe  the  stories  about  him;  yet  was  not  ill- 
pleased.  "Like  master ;  like  man !"  says  the  proverb. 
She  continued  to  survey  the  graceful  figure,  well- 
poised  head  and  handsome  features  of  the  jester. 

"Tell  me,  sirrah,"  she  continued,  "of  the  duke. 
Straightforwardly,  or — I'll  leave  thee  to  the  mercy  of 
madam  the  admiral's  wife !  What  is  he  like  ?" 

"A  fairly  likely  man !" 

"  'Tis  what  one  says  of  a  man  when  one  can  say 
nothing  else.  He  is  not  then  very  handsome  ?" 

"He  has  never  been  so  considered!" 

The  princess'  needle  remained  suspended,  then 
viciously  plunged  into  the  golden  Cupid  she  was  em- 
broidering. "The  king  hath  played  with  me,"  she 
murmured.  "He  represented  him  as  one  of  the  most 
distinguished-appearing  knights  in  the  emperor's  do- 
mains. Is  he  dark  or  light  ?"  she  went  on. 

"Dark." 


36  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Tall?" 

"Rather  short." 

"His  eyes  ?"  said  the  lady,  after  an  ominous  pause. 

"Brown." 

"His  manners?" 

"Those  of  a  soldier." 

"His  speech?" 

"That  of  one  born  to  command." 

"Command!"  returned  the  princess,  ironically. 
"Odious  word !" 

"You,  Madam,"  quickly  answered  the  jester,  "he 
would  serve." 

A  moment  her  glance  challenged  his,  coldly,  proud- 
ly, and  then  her  features  softened.  The  indolent  look 
crept  into  her  eyes  once  more ;  the  tension  of  her  lips 
relaxed. 

"Command  and  serve!"  laughed  the  princess.  "A 
paradox,  if  not  a  paragon,  it  seems !  Not  handsome — 
probably  ugly! — a  soldier — full  of  oaths — a  blusterer 
— strong  in  his  cups !  What  a  list  of  qualifications ! 
Well" — with  a  sigh — "what  must  needs  be  must  be! 
The  emperor  plays  the  rook ;  Francis  moves  his  pawn 
— my  poor  self.  The  game,  beyond  the  two  moves, 
is  naught  to  us.  Perhaps  we  shall  be  sacrificed,  one  or 
both !  What  of  that,  if  it's  a  draw,  or  one  of  the  play- 
ers checkmates  the  other — " 


A    GIFT    FOR    THE    DUKE         37 

"But,  Princess,"  cried  the  fool,  "he  loves  you !  Pas- 
sionately ! — devotedly ! — " 

"A  passing  fancy  for  a  painted  semblance !"  said  the 
lady,  as  rising  she  turned  toward  the  casement,  the 
golden  Cupid  falling  from  her  lap  to  the  floor.  In 
the  rhythmic  ease  of  her  movement,  in  her  very  atti- 
tude, was  consciousness  of  her  own  power,  but  to  the 
poet- jester,  surrounded  as  he  was  by  symbols  of  wor- 
ship and  devotion,  her  expressed  self-doubt  seemed 
that  of  some  saintly  being,  cloistered  in  the  solitude 
of  a  sanctuary. 

"Nay,"  he  answered  swiftly,  "he  has  but  to  see  you 
— with  the  sunlight  in  your  hair — as  I  see  you  now! 
The  pawn,  Madam,  would  become  a  queen ;  his  queen ! 
What  would  matter  to  him  the  game  of  Charles  or 
Francis  ?  Let  Charles  grow  greater,  or  Francis  small- 
er. His  gain  would  be — you !" 

The  fingers  of  the  maid  who  sat  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room  ceased  to  caress  the  silver  vase;  her  hands 
were  tightly  clasped  together;  in  her  dark  eyes  was 
an  ironical  light,  as  her  gaze  passed  from  the  jester  to 
her  mistress.  Almost  motionless  stood  the  princess 
until  he  had  finished ;  motionless  it  would  have  seemed 
but  for  the  chain  on  her  breast,  which  rose  and  fell  with 
her  breathing.  From  the  jeweled  network  which  half- 
bound  her  hair  shone  flashes  of  light;  a  tress  which 


38  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

escaped  the  glittering  environment  lay  like  a  serpent 
of  gold  upon  the  crimson  of  her  gown  where  the  neck 
softly  uprose.  A  hue,  delicately  rich  as  the  tinted 
leaves  of  orange  blossoms,  mantled  her  cheeks. 

She  shook  her  head  in  soft  dissent.  "Queen  for 
how  long  ?"  she  answered  gently.  "As  long  as  gentle 
Claude  was  queen  for  Francis?  As  long  as  saintly 
Eleanor  held  undisputed  sway?" 

"As  long  as  Eleanor  is  queen  in  the  hearts  of  her 
people !"  he  exclaimed,  passionately.  "As  long  as 
France  is  her  bridegroom !" 

Deliberately  she  half-turned,  the  coil  of  gold  falling 
over  her  shoulder.  Near  her  hand,  white  against  the 
dark  casement,  a  blood-red  rose  trembled  at  the  en- 
trance of  her  chamber,  and,  grasping  it  lightly,  she 
held  it  to  her  face  as  if  its  perfume  symbolized  her 
thoughts. 

"Is  there  so  much  constancy  in  the  world?"  she 
asked  musingly.  "Can  such  singleness  of  heart  exist  ? 
Like  this  flower  which  would  bloom  and  die  at  my  win- 
dow? A  bold  flower,  though!  Day  by  day  has  it 
been  growing  nearer.  Here,"  she  added,  breaking  it 
from  the  stem  and  holding  it  to  the  jester. 

"Madam!"  he  cried. 

"Take  it,"  she  laughed,  "and— send  it  to  the  duke !" 
Kneeling,  he  received  it.  "Thou  art  a  fellow  of 


A     GIFT    FOR     THE    DUKE        39 

infinite  humor  indeed.  Equally  at  home  in  a  lady's 
boudoir,  or  a  fools'  drinking  bout.  Come,  Jacqueline, 
Queen  Marguerite  awaits  our  presence.  She  has  a 
new  chapter  to  read,  but  whether  another  instalment 
of  her  tales,  or  a  prayer  for  her  Mirror  of  the  Sinful 
Soul,  I  know  not.  As  for  you,  sir" — with  a  parting 
smile — "later  we  shall  walk  in  the  garden.  There  you 
may  await  us." 


CHAPTER   IV 

AN    IMPATIENT   SUITOR 

"Well,  Sir  Mariner,  do  you  not  fear  to  venture  so 
far  on  a  dangerous  sea?"  asked  a  mocking  voice. 

"A  dangerous  sea,  fair  Jacqueline?"  he  replied, 
stroking  the  head  of  the  hound  which  lay  before  the 
bench.  "I  see  nothing  save  smiling  fields  and  fra- 
grant beds  of  flowers." 

"Oh,  I  recognize  now  Monsieur  Diplomat,  not  Sir 
Mariner !"  she  retorted. 

Beneath  her  head-dress,  resembling  in  some  degree 
two  great  butterfly  wings,  her  face  looked  smaller 
than  its  wont.  Laced  tight,  after  the  fashion,  the 
cotte-hardie  made  her  waist  appear  little  larger  than 
could  be  clasped  by  the  hands  of  a  soldier,  while  a 
silken-shod  foot  with  which  she  tapped  the  ground 
would  have  nestled  neatly  in  his  palm.  Was  it  pique 
that  moved  her  thus  to  address  the  duke's  jester? 
Since  he  had  arrived,  Jacqueline  had  been  relegated,  as 
it  were,  to  the  corner.  She,  formerly  ever  first  with 

40 


AN    IMPATIENT     SUITOR        41 

the  princess,  had  perforce  stood  aside  on  the  com- 
ing of  the  foreign  fool  whose  company  her  mistress 
strangely  seemed  to  prefer  to  her  own. 

First  had  it  been  talking,  walking  and  jesting,  in 
which  last  accomplishment  he  proved  singularly  ex- 
pert, judging  from  the  peals  of  laughter  to  which  her 
mistress  occasionally  gave  vent.  Then  it  had  become 
riding,  hawking  and,  worst  of  all,  reading.  Lately 
Louise,  learned,  as  has  been  set  forth,  in  the  profane 
letters,  had  displayed  a  marked  favor  for  books 
of  all  kinds — The  Tree  of  Battles,  by  Bonnet,  the 
Breviary  of  Nobles  in  verse,  the  "Livre  des  fails 
d'armes  et  de  chevalerie,"  by  Christine  de  Pisan;  and 
in  a  secluded  garden  spot,  with  her  fool  and  servant, 
she  sedulously  pursued  her  literary  labors. 

As  books  were  rare,  being  hand-printed  and  hand- 
illumined,  the  princess'  choice  of  volumes  was  not 
large,  but  Marguerite,  the  king's  sister,  possessed 
some  rarely  executed  poems — in  their  mechanical  as- 
pect; the  monarch  permitted  her  the  use  of  several 
precious  chronicles ;  while  the  abbess  in  the  convent 
near  by,  who  esteemed  Louise  for  her  piety  and  ac- 
complishments, submitted  to  her  care  a  gorgeously 
painted,  satin-bound  Life  of  Saint  Agnes,  a  Roman 
virgin  who  died  under  the  sanguinary  persecution  of 
Diocletian.  But  Jacqueline  frowningly  noticed  that  the 


42  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

saint's  life  lay  idle — conspicuously,  though  fittingly, 
on  the  altar-table — while  a  manuscript  of  the  Queen  of 
Navarre  suspiciously  accompanied  the  jester  when  he 
sought  the  pleasant  nook  selected  for  reading  and  con- 
versation. 

It  was  to  this  spot  the  maid  repaired  one  soft  sum- 
mer afternoon,  where  she  found  the  fool  and  a  volume 
— Marguerite's,  by  the  purple  binding  and  the  love- 
knot  in  silver ! — awaiting  doubtless  the  coming  of  the 
princess;  and  at  the  sight  of  them,  the  book  of  ro- 
mance and  the  jester  who  brought  it,  what  wonder 
her  patience  gave  way? 

"You  have  been  here  now  a  fortnight,  Monsieur 
Diplomat,"  she  continued,  bending  the  eyes  which 
Triboulet  so  feared  upon  the  other. 

"Thirteen  days,  to  be  exact,  sweet  Jacqueline!"  he 
answered  calmly. 

"Indeed!  Then  there  is  some  hope  for  you,  if 
you've  kept  track  of  time,"  she  returned  pointedly. 

Still  he  forbore  to  qualify  his  manner,  save  with  a 
latent  smile  that  further  exasperated  the  girl. 

"What  mean  you,  gentle  mistress?"  he  asked  quiet- 
ly, without  even  looking  at  her. 

"  'Sweet  Jacqueline !'  'Gentle  mistress !'  you  are  pro- 
fuse with  soft  words!"  she  cried  sharply. 

"And  yet  they  turn  you  not  from  anger." 


AN    IMPATIENT     SUITOR        43 

"Anger!"  she  said,  her  eyes  flashing.  "Not  an- 
other man  at  court  would  dare  to  talk  to  me  as  you 
do." 

At  this  he  lifted  his  brows  and  surveyed  her  much 
as  one  would  a  spoiled  child,  a  glance  that  excited 
in  her  the  same  emotion  she  had  experienced  the  night 
of  his  arrival  in  Fools'  hall,  when  he  had  contemplated 
her  in  her  garb  of  joculatrix,  as  some  misplaced 
anomaly. 

"I  know,  mistress,"  he  returned  ironically,  "you 
have  a  reputation  for  sorcery.  But  I  think  it  lies 
more  in  your  eyes  than  in  the  moon." 

"And  yet  I  can  see  the  future  for  all  that,"  she  re- 
plied, persistently,  defiantly. 

"The  future?"  he  retorted,  and  looked  from  the 
earth  to  the  sky.  "What  is  the  goal  of  yonder  tiny 
cloud?  Can  you  tell  me  that?" 

"The  goal?"  she  repeated,  uplifting  her  head. 
"Wait!  It  is  very  small.  The  sun  is  already  swal- 
lowing it  up." 

"Heigho!"  yawned  the  jester,  outstretching  his  yel- 
low-pointed boot,  "I  catch  not  the  moral  to  the  fable — 
an  there  be  one! 

"The  moral !"  she  said,  quickly.     "Ask  Marot." 

"Why  Marot  ?"  Balancing  the  stick  with  the  fool's 
head  in  his  hand. 


44  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Because  he  dared  love  Queen  Marguerite!"  she 
answered  impetuously.  "The  fool  in  motley ;  the  lady 
in  purple!  How  he  jested  at  her  wedding!  How  he 
wept  when  he  thought  himself  alone !" 

"He  had  but  himself  to  blame,  Jacqueline,"  returned 
the  other  with  composure,  although  his  eyes  were  now 
bent  straight  before  him.  "He  could  not  climb  to  her ; 
she  could  not  stoop  to  him.  Yet  I  daresay,  it  was  a 
mad  dream  he  would  not  have  foregone." 

"Not  have  foregone!"  she  exclaimed,  quickly. 
"What  would  he  not  have  given  to  tear  it  from  his 
breast;  aye,  though  he  tore  his  heart  with  it!  That 
day,  bright  and  fair,  when  Henry  d'Albret,  King  of 
Navarre,  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  brow! 
When  amid  gay  festivities  she  became  his  bride !  Not 
have  foregone?  Yes;  Marot  would  forego  that  day 
— and  other  days." 

Still  that  inertia ;  that  irritating  immobility.  "What 
a  tragic  tale  for  a  summer  day!"  was  his  only  com- 
ment. 

"And  Caillette!"  she  continued,  rapidly.  "Dis- 
tinguished in  mien,  graceful  in  manner.  In  the  house 
of  his  patron,  he  dared  look  up  to  that  nobleman's 
daughter,  Diane  de  Poitiers.  A  dream;  a  youthful 
dream !  Enter  Monsieur  de  Breze,  grand  seneschal  of 
Normandy.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  rest?  How  Caillette 


AN     IMPATIENT     SUITOR        45 

stares,  moody,  knitting  his  brows  at  his  cups!  Of 
what  is  the  jester  thinking?" 

"Whether  the  grand  seneschal  will  let  him  sleep 
with  the  spaniels,  Jacqueline,  or  turn  him  out," 
laughed  the  jester. 

Angrily  she  clasped  her  hands  before  her.  "Is  it 
the  way  your  mind  would  move  ?"  she  retorted. 

"A  jester  without  a  roof  to  cover  him  is  like  a  dog 
without  a  kennel,  mistress." 

Disdain,  contempt,  rapidly  crossed  her  face,  but  her 
lip  curved  knowingly  and  her  voice  came  more  gently, 
because  of  the  greater  sting  that  lay  behind  her  words. 

"You  but  seek  to  flout  me  from  my  tale,"  she  said 
sweetly.  "Caillette  is  none  such,  as  you  know.  They 
were  young  together.  'Twas  said  he  confessed  his 
love ;  that  tokens  passed  between  them.  Rhymes  he 
writ  to  her ;  a  flower,  perhaps,  she  gave  him.  A  flower 
he  yet  cherishes,  mayhap ;  dried,  faded,  yet  plucked  by 
her!" 

Involuntarily  the  hand  of  her  listener  touched  his 
breast,  the  first  sign  he  had  made  that  her  story  moved 
him.  Jacqueline,  watching  him  keenly,  smiled,  and 
demurely  looked  away.  Her  next  words  seemed  to 
dance  from  her  lips,  as  with  head  bent,  like  a  butterfly 
poised,  she  addressed  her  remark  to  vacancy. 


46  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"A  flower  for  himself,  no  doubt!  Not  given  him 
for  another !" 

Whereupon  she  turned  in  time  to  catch  the  burning 
flush  which  flamed  his  cheek  and  left  it  paler  than  she 
had  ever  seen  it.  At  this  first  signal  of  her  success — 
proving  that  he  was  not  impregnable  to  her  attack — • 
she  hummed  a  little  song  and  beat  time  on  the  sward 
with  a  green-shod  foot. 

"What  mean  you  ?"  he  asked,  momentarily  dropping 
his  unruffled  manner. 

"Not  much !"  Lightly  she  tripped  to  a  bush,  broke 
off  a  flower  and  regarded  it  mischievously.  "Why 
should  people  hide  that  which  is  so  sweet  and  fra- 
grant ?"  she  remarked,  and  set  the  rose  in  her  hair. 

"Hide?"  he  said,  looking  at  the  flower,  but  not  at 
her. 

"I  trust  you  kept  the  rose,  Monsieur  Diplomat?"  she 
spoke  up,  suddenly,  her  expression  most  serious. 

"What  rose?"  he  asked,  now  become  restless  be- 
neath her  cutting  tongue. 

"What  rose !  As  if  you  did  not  know !  How  inno- 
cent you  look!  How  many  roses  are  there  in  the 
world?  A  thousand?  Or  only  one?  What  rose? 
Her  rose,  of  course.  Have  you  got  it?  I  hope  so — • 
for  the  duke  is  coming  and  might  ask  for  it !" 

This,  then,  was  the  information  she  had  taken  such  a 


AN    IMPATIENT     SUITOR        47 

roundabout  way  to  communicate !  It  was  to  this  end 
she  had  purposely  led  the  conversation  by  adroit 
stages,  studying  him  gaily,  impatiently  or  maliciously, 
as  she  marked  the  effect  of  her  words  upon  him.  All 
alive,  she  stepped  back  laughing;  elate,  she  put  her 
arms  about  a  branch  of  the  rose-bush  and  drew  a  score 
of  roses  to  her  bosom,  as  though  she  were  a  witch, 
impervious  to  thorns.  He  had  risen — yes,  there  was 
no  doubt  about  it ! — but  her  sunny  face  was  turned  to 
the  flowers.  His  countenance  became  at  once  puzzled 
and  thoughtful. 

"The  duke — coming — "  He  condescended  to  ask 
for  information  now. 

Sidewise  she  gazed  at  him,  unrelenting.  "Does  the 
flower  become  me?"  she  asked.  - 

"The  duke — coming — "  he  repeated. 

"How  impolite !  To  refuse  me  a  compliment !"  she 
flashed. 

The  next  moment  he  was  by  her  side,  and  had  taken 
her  arm,  almost  roughly.  "Speak  out!"  he  cried. 
"Some  one  is  coming!  What  duke  is  coming?" 

"You  hurt  me!"  she  exclaimed,  angrily.  He  loos- 
ened his  grasp. 

"What  duke?"  she  answered  scornfully.  "Her 
duke !  Your  duke !  The  emperor's  duke !" 

"The  Duke  of  Friedwald?"  he  asked. 


48  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Of  course!  The  princess'  fiance;  bridegroom-to- 
be;  future  husband,  lord  and  master,"  she  explained, 
with  indubious  and  positive  iteration. 

"But  the  time — set  for  the  wedding — has  not  ex- 
pired," he  protested  with  what  she  thought  seemed  a 
suspicion  that  she  was  playing  with  him. 

"That  is  easily  answered,"  she  said  cheerfully. 
"The  duke,  it  seems,  has  become  more  and  more 
enamored.  Finally  his  passion  has  so  grown  and 
grown  he  fears  to  let  it  grow  any  more,  and,  as  the 
only  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  petitioned  the  king  to 
curtail  the  time  of  probation  and  relieve  him  of  the 
constantly  augmenting  suspense.  To  which  his  most 
gracious  Majesty,  having  been  a  lover  himself  (on 
divers  occasions)  and  measuring  the  poor  fellow's 
troubles  by  the  qualms  he  has  himself  experienced,  has 
seen  generously  fit  to  cut  off  a  few  weeks  of  waiting 
and  set  the  wedding  for  the  near  future." 

"How  know  you  this  ?"  he  demanded,  sharply,  strid- 
ing to  and  fro. 

"This  morning  the  princess  sent  me  with  a  message 
to  the  Countess  d'Etampes.  You  know  her?  You 
have  heard?  She  has  succeeded  the  Countess  of 
Chateaubriant.  Well,  the  king  was  with  her — not  the 
Countess  of  Chateaubriant,  but  the  other  one,  I  mean. 
They  left  poor  me  to  await  his  Majesty's  pleasure,  and, 


AN    IMPATIENT     SUITOR        49 

as  the  Countess  d'Etampes  has  but  newly  succeeded  to 
her  present  exalted  position  and  the  king  has  not  yet 
discovered  her  many  imperfections,  I  should  certainly 
have  fallen  asleep  for  weariness  had  I  not  chanced  to 
overhear  portions  of  their  conversation.  The  Countess 
d'Etampes,  it  seemed,  was  very  angry.  'Your  Ma- 
jesty promised  to  send  her  home,'  she  said.  'But,  my 
dear,  give  me  time,'  pleaded  the  king.  'Pack  her  off 
at  once,'  she  demanded,  raising  her  voice.  'Send  her 
to  her  husband.  That's  where  she  belongs.  Think  of 
him,  poor  fellow!'  Laughing,  his  Majesty  capitulated. 
'Well,  well,  back  to  her  castle  goes  the  Countess  of 
Chateaubriant !'  Thereupon — " 

"But  the  duke,  mistress,"  interrupted  the  jester, 
who  had  become  more  and  more  impatient  during  the 
prolonged  narration.  "The  duke?" 

"Am  I  not  to  tell  it  in  my  own  way  ?"  she  returned. 
"What  manners  you  have!  First,  you  pinch  my  arm 
until  I  must  needs  cry  out.  Then  you  ask  a  question 
and  interrupt  me  before  I  can  answer." 

"Interrupt !"  he  muttered.  "You  might  have  told  a 
dozen  tales.  What  care  I  for  the  king's  Jezebels?" 

"Jezebels!"  she  repeated,  in  mock  horror.  "I  see 
plainly,  if  you  don't  die  one  way,  you  will  another." 

"  'Tis  usually  the  case.     But  go  on  with  your  story." 

"If  I  can  not  tell  it  in  my  own  way — " 


50  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

"Tell  it  as  you  will,  if  your  way  be  as  slow  as  your 
tongue  is  sharp,"  he  answered  sullenly. 

"Sharp !  Jezebels !  You  deserve  not  to  hear,  but — 
the  king,  it  seems,  had  laid  the  duke's  request  before 
the  Countess  d'Etampes.  'Here  is  an  impatient 
suitor,'  he  said  gaily.  'How  shall  we  cure  his  pas- 
sion?' 'By  marrying  him,'  blithely  answered  this 
light-of-love.  '  'Tis  a  medicine  that  never  fails !' 
His  Majesty  frowned;  I  could  not  see  him,  but  felt 
sure  of  it  from  his  tone,  for  although  he  neglects  the 
queen,  yet,  to  some  degree,  is  mindful  of  her  dignity. 
'Marriage  is  a  holy  state,  Madam,'  he  replied  severely. 
'There's  no  doubt  about  it,  Francis/  returned  the  lady, 
'and  therefore  is  the  antidote  to  passion.  But  a  man 
bent  on  matrimony  is  like  a  child  that  wants  a  toy. 
Better  give  it  to  him  at  once — the  plaything  will  the 
sooner  be  thrown  aside!'  'Nay,  Madam,'  he  said  re- 
provingly, 'the  duke  shall  have  his  wish,  but  for.no 
such  reason.'  'What  reason  then?'  quoth  she,  petu- 
lantly. 'Because  thou  hast  shown  me  love  is  a  mon- 
arch stronger  than  any  king  and  that  we  are  but  as 
slaves  in  its  hands!'  he  exclaimed,  passionately.  'I 
know  I  shall  like  the  duke,'  cried  she,  'since  he  is  the 
cause  of  that  pretty  speech.' 
>  "At  this  point,  not  daring  to  listen  longer,  I 


AN    IMPATIENT     SUITOR        51 

coughed;  there  was  silence;  then  the  countess  herself 
appeared  at  the  door  and  looked  at  me  sharply.  With 
such  grace  as  I  could  command,  I  delivered  my  mes- 
sage, left  the  house  and  was  hurrying  through  the 
garden  when  chance  threw  you  in  my  way.  And  now 
you  have  it  all,  sir." 

"The  princess — has  she  heard  the  king  has  received 
a  letter  from  the  duke,  and  that  his  Majesty  has 
changed  the  wedding  date  ?" 

The  jester  spoke  slowly,  but  Jacqueline  was  as- 
sured that  beneath  his  deliberate  manner  surged  deep 
and  conflicting  emotions;  that  his  calmness  was  no 
more  than  a  mask  to  conceal  his  pain.  Had  he  given 
utterance  to  the  feeling  that  beset  him,  had  he  be- 
trayed more  than  a  suggestion  of  the  passion,  rage 
or  grief  which  struggles  for  mastery  beneath  a 
forced  sloth  of  sensibility,  she  would  have  once  more 
mocked  him  with  laughter.  But  perhaps  his  very 
quiescence  inclined  her  to  look  upon  him  with  a  grain 
of  sympathy  or  compassion,  for  her  tones  were  now 
grave. 

"The  princess  knows;  has  heard  all  from  the  king. 
Not  long  since  he  sent  for  her.  Will  she  consent? 
What  else  can  she  do?  'Tis  the  monarch  who  com- 
mands ;  we  who  obey !" 


52  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Is  the  court  then  only  a  mart,  a  guildhall?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "A  woman — even  a  princess — should  be 
won,  not — exchanged !" 

Her  lashes  drooped ;  in  her  gaze  shone  once  more 
the  ironical  amusement.  "Why,"  she  said,  "from 
what  wilds,  or  forests,  have  you  come?  The  heart 
follows  where  the  trader  lists!  Think  you  the  prin- 
cess will  wear  the  willow?"  she  laughed.  "How  well 
you  know  women !" 

"Do  you  mean  that  she — " 

"I  mean  that  her  welfare  is  in  strong  hands;  that 
there  will  be  few  greater  in  all  the  land;  none  more 
honored !  The  duke's  principality  is  vast — but  here 
comes  the  princess."  The  hound  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  ran  gamboling  down  the  path.  "Ask  her  the 
rest  yourself,  most  Unsophisticated  Fool!  Ah," — 
with  a  touch  she  could  not  resist — "what  a  handsome 
bride  she  will  make  for  the  duke !" 


CHAPTER   V 

JACQUELINE  FETCHES  THE  PRINCESS*  FAN 

Through  the  flowery  path,  so  narrow  her  gown 
brushed  the  leaves  on  either  side,  the  Princess  Louise 
appeared,  walking  slowly.  A  head-dress,  heart- 
shaped,  held  her  hair  in  its  close  confines;  the  gown 
of  cloth-of-silver  damask  fitted  closely  to  her  figure, 
and,  from  the  girdle,  hung  a  long  pendent  end,  elab- 
orately enriched.  With  short,  sharp  barks,  the  dog 
bounded  before  her,  but  the  hand  usually  extended  to 
caress  the  animal  remained  at  her  side. 

Intently  the  jester  watched  her  draw  near  and  ever 
nearer  their  common  trysting  spot,  her  favorite  gar- 
den nook.  A  handsome  bride,  forsooth,  as  Jacqueline 
had  suggested.  All  in  white  was  she  now;  a  glitter- 
ing white,  with  silver  adornment;  ravishingly  hyme- 
neal. A  bride  for  a  duke — or  a  king — more  stately 
than  the  queen ;  handsomer  than  the  favorite  of  favor- 
ites who  ruled  the  king  and  France. 

"Jacqueline,"  she  said,  evincing  neither  surprise  nor 
53 


54  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

any  other  emotion,  as  she  approached,  "go  and  fetch 
my  fan.  I  believe  'tis  in  the  king's  ante-chamber." 

"Madam  carried  no  fan  when" — began  the  girl. 

"Then  'tis  somewhere  else.  Do  not  bandy  words, 
but  find  it." 

Sinking  on  the  bench  as  the  maid  walked  quickly 
away,  she  remained  for  some  moments  in  silent 
thought, — a  reverie  the  jester  forbore  to  disturb.  Her 
head  rested  on  her  arm,  from  which  fell  the  flowing 
sleeve  almost  to  the  ground ;  her  wrist  was  lightly  in- 
clasped  by  a  slender  golden  band  of  delicate  Byzantine 
enamel  work;  over  the  sculptured  form  of  the  stone 
griffin  that  constituted  one  of  the  supports  of  the  an- 
cient Norman  bench  flowed  the  voluminous  folds  of 
her  dress,  partly  concealing  the  monster  from  view. 
Against  the  clambering  ivy  which  for  centuries  had 
reveled  in  this  chosen  spot,  and  which  the  landscape 
gardeners  of  Francis  had  wisely  spared,  lay  her  hand, 
a  small  ring  of  curious  workmanship  gleaming  from 
her  finger.  The  ring  caused  the  jester  to  start,  remem- 
bering he  had  last  seen  it  worn  by  the  king. 

Truly,  the  capricious,  but  august,  monarch  must 
have  been  well  pleased  with  the  complaisance  of  his 
fair  ward,  and  the  face  of  the  fool,  glowing  and  eager, 
became  on  the  instant  hard  and  cold.  Did  he  ex- 
perience now  the  first  pangs  of  that  sorrow  Jacqueline 


THE    PRINCESS'    FAN  55 

had  vividly  portrayed  as  the  love-portion  of  Marot  and 
Caillette?  Faintly  the  ivy  whispered  above  the 
princess,  telling  perhaps  of  other  days  when,  centuries 
gone  by,  some  Norman  lady  had  been  wooed  and  won, 
or  wooed  and  lost,  in  the  shadow  of  the  griffin,  which, 
silent,  sphinx-like,  yet  endured  through  the  ages. 

Idly  the  Princess  Louise  plucked  a  leaf  from  the  old, 
old  vine,  picked  it  apart  and  let  the  pieces  float  away. 
As  they  fluttered  and  fell  at  the  jester's  feet  she  re- 
garded him  with  thoughtful  blue  eyes. 

"How  far  is  it,"  she  asked,  "to  the  duke's  prin- 
cipality ?" 

If  he  had  doubted  the  maid's  story,  He  was  now  con- 
vinced. The  ring  and  her  question  confirmed  Jacque- 
line's narrative.  Moodily  he  surveyed  the  great 
claws  of  the  griffin,  firmly  planted  on  the  earth,  and 
then  looked  from  the  feet  to  the  laughing  mouth  of  the 
stone  figure,  or  so  much  of  it  as  the  shining  dress  left 
uncovered. 

"About  fifteen  days'  journey,  Princess,"  he  replied. 

"No  farther?" 

"Barring  accidents,  it  may  be  made  in  that  time." 

She  did  not  notice  how  dull  was  his  tone;  how  he 
avoided  her  gaze.  Blind  to  him,  she  turned  the  ring 
around  and  around  on  her  finger,  as  though  her 
thoughts  were  concentrated  on  it. 


56  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Accidents,"  she  repeated,  her  hand  now  motionless. 
"Is  the  way  perilous  ?" 

"The  country  is  most  unsettled." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  unsettled?"  she  continued, 
bending  forward  with  fingers  clasped  over  her  knees. 
Supinely  she  waved  a  foot  back  and  forth,  showing 
and  then  withdrawing  the  point  of  a  jeweled  slipper, 
and  a  suggestion  of  lavender  in  silk  network  above. 
"What  do  you  call  unsettled?" 

"The  country  is  infested  with  many  roving  bands 
commanded  by  the  so-called  independent  barons  who 
owe  allegiance  to  neither  king  nor  emperor,"  he  an- 
swered. "Their  homes  are  perched,  like  eagles'  nests, 
upon  some  mountain  peak  that  commands  the  valleys 
travelers  must  proceed  through.  A  fierce,  untamed 
crew,  bent  on  rapine  and  murder !" 

"Did  you  encounter  any  such?"     Gently. 

"Ofttimes." 

"And  left  unscathed  ?" 

"Because  I  was  a  jester,  Madam;  something  less 
than  man ;  a  lordling's  slave ;  a  woman's  plaything ! 
Their  sentinels  shared  with  me  their  flasks;  I  slept 
before  their  signal  fires,  and  even  supped  in  the  heart 
of  their  stone  fastnesses.  Fools  and  monks  are  safe 
among  them,  for  the  one  amuses  and  the  other  ab- 
solves their  sins.  Yet  is  there  one  free  baron," 


THE    PRINCESS'    FAN  57 

he  added  reflectively,  "whom  even  I  should  have  done 
well  to  avoid ;  he,  the  most  feared,  the  most  savage ! 
Louis,  the  bastard  of  Pfalz-Urfeld !" 

"Have  you  ever  met  him  ?"  asked  the  princess,  in  a 
mechanical  tone. 

"No,"  with  a  short  laugh.  "A  few  of  his  knaves 
I  encountered,  however,  whose  conduct  shamed  the 
courtesy  of  the  other  mountain  rogues.  I  all  but 
fared  ill  indeed,  from  them.  To  the  pleasantry  of 
my  greeting,  they  replied  with  the  true  pilferer's 
humor ;  the  free  baron  had  ordered  every  one  searched. 
They  would  have  robbed  and  stripped  me,  despite  the 
color  of  my  coat,  only  fortunately,  instead  of  a  fool's 
staff,  I  had  a  good  blade  of  the  duke's.  For  a  mo- 
ment it  was  cut  and  thrust — not  jest  and  gibe;  the 
suddenness  of  the  attack  surprised  them,  and  before 
they  could  digest  the  humor  of  it  the  fool  had  slipped 
away." 

She  leaned  inertly  back  against  the  soft  cushion  of 
ivy.  In  the  shadow  the  tint  on  her  cheeks  deepened, 
but  below  the  sunlight  played  about  her  shoulders 
through  leafy  interspace,  or  crept  in  dancing  spots 
down  over  her  gown  and  arms. 

"The  duke  would  not  be  molested  by  these  out- 
laws?" she  continued,  pursuing  her  line  of  question- 
ing. 


58  UNDERTHEROSE 

"The  duke  has  a  strong  arm,"  he  answered  cau- 
tiously. "They  may  be  well  content  to  permit  him  to 
come  and  go  as  he  sees  fit." 

"Well,  well,"  she  said,  perversely,  "I  was  only 
curious  about  the  distance  and  the  country." 

"For  leagues  the  land  is  wild,  bleak,  inhospitable, 
and  then  'tis  level,  monotonous,  deserted,  so  lonely 
the  song  dies  on  the  wandering  minstrel's  lips.  But 
the  duke  rides  fast  with  his  troop  and  soon  would 
cover  the  mountain  paths  and  dreary  wastes." 

"Nay,"  she  interrupted  impatiently,  "I  asked  not 
how  the  duke  would  ride." 

"I  thought  you  wished  to  know,  Princess,"  he  re- 
plied, humbly.  r 

"You  thought" — she  began  angrily,  sitting  erect. 

"I  know,  Princess ;  a  fool  should  but  jest,  not  think." 

"Why  do  you  cross  me  to-day  ?"  she  demanded  petu- 
lantly. "Can  you  not  see — " 

Abruptly  she  rose;  impatiently  moved  away;  but  a 
few  steps,  however,  when  she  turned,  her  face  sudden- 
ly free  from  annoyance,  in  her  eyes  a  soft  decision. 

"There!"  she  exclaimed  with  a  smile,  half-arch, 
half-repentant.  "How  can  any  one  be  angry  on  such 
a  day — all  sunshine,  butterflies  and  flowers!" 

He  did  not  reply,  and,  mistress  once  more  of  her- 
self, she  drew  near. 


THE    PRINCESS'    FAN  59 

"What  a  contrast  to  the  stuffy  palace,  with  all  the 
courtiers,  ministers  and  lap-dogs!"  she  went  on. 
"Here  one  can  breathe.  But  how  shall  we  make  the 
most  of  such  a  day  ?  Stroll  into  the  forest j  sit  by  the 
fountain ;  run  over  the  grass  ?" 

Her  voice  was  softer  than  it  had  been;  her  words 
fraught  with  suggestions  of  exhilarating  companion- 
ship. Did  she  note  their  effect?  At  any  rate,  she 
laughed  lightly. 

"But  how,"  she  resumed,  surveying  the  great  en- 
folding skirt,  "could  one  trip  the  sward  with  this 
monstrous  gown,  weighted  with  wreaths  of  silver? 
Is  it  not  but  one  of  the  many  penalties  of  high  birth? 
Oh,  for  the  short  skirts  of  the  lowly !  What  comfort 
to  be  arrayed  like  Jacqueline !" 

"And  she,  Princess,  doubtless  thinks  likewise  of 
more  gorgeous  apparel."  His  heart  beat  faster  as  he 
strove  to  answer  her  in  kind. 

"A  waste  of  cloth  in  vanity,  as  saith  Master  Calvin !" 
she  replied,  lifting  her  arms  that  shone  with  creamy 
softness  from  the  dangling  folds  of  heavy  silk.  "Were 
it  not  for  this  courtly  encumbrance,  I  should  propose 
going  into  the  fields  with  the  haymakers.  You  may 
see  them  now — look! — through  the  opening  in  the 
foliage." 

With  an  expression,  part  resignation,  part  regret^ 


60  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

she  leaned  against  the  wind-worn  griffin  which  formed 
the  arm  of  the  bench.  Fainter  sounded  the  warning  of 
the  jestress  in  the  ears  of  the  duke's  fool;  so  faint 
it  became  but  a  weak  admonition.  More  and  more  he 
abandoned  himself  to  the  pleasure  of  the  moment. 

"To  make  the  most  of  the  day,"  the  princess  had 
said. 

How?  By  denying  himself  the  sight  of  her  ever- 
varying  grace;  by  refusing  to  yield  to  the  charm  of 
her  voice.  He  raised  his  head  more  boldly;  through 
her  drooping  lashes  a  lazy  light  shot  forth  upon  him, 
and  the  shadow  of  a  smile  seemed  to  say:  "That  is 
better.  When  the  mistress  is  indulgent,  a  fool  should 
not  be  unbending.  A  melancholy  jester  is  but  poor 
company." 

And  so  her  mood  swayed  his ;  he  forgot  his  resolu- 
tion, his  pride,  and  yielded  to  the  infatuation  of  the 
moment.  But  when  he  endeavored  to  call  the  weapons 
of  his  office  to  his  aid,  her  glance  and  the  shadow  of 
that  smile  left  him  witless.  Jest,  fancy  and  whim 
had  taken  flight. 

"Well?"  she  said.     "Well,  Sir  Fool?" 

His  color  shifted;  withal  his  half-embarrassment, 
there  was  something  graceful  and  noble  in  his  bearing. 

"Madam" — he  began,  and  stopped  for  want  of  mat- 
ter to  put  into  words. 


THE    PRINCESS'    FAN  61 

But  if  the  princess  was  annoyed  at  the  new-found 
dullness  of  her  plaisant,  her  manner  did  not  show  it. 

"What,"  she  said,  gently ;  "no  news  from  the  court ; 
no  word  of  intrigue ;  no  story  of  the  king  ?  I  should 
seek  a  courtier  for  my  companion,  not  a  jester.  But 
there !  What  book  have  you  brought  ?"  indicating  the 
volume  that  lay  upon  the  bench. 

"Guillaume  de  Lorris's  'Romance  of  the  Rose,' " 
he  answered,  more  freely. 

"Where  did  we  leave  off?" 

"Where  the  hero,  arriving  at  a  fountain,  beheld  a 
beautiful  rose  tree,"  said  the  fool  in  a  low  tone.  "De- 
siring the  rose,  he  reached  to  gather  it — " 

"Yes,  I  remember.  And  then,  Reason  and  Danger 
did  battle  with  Love." 

"Is  it  your  wish  we  continue  ?"  he  asked,  taking  the 
book  in  his  hand. 

"I  would  fain  learn  if  he  gathers  his  rose.  Nay,  sit 
here  on  the  bench  and  I" — brightly — "may  look  over 
your  shoulder  ever  and  anon,  to  steal  a  glimpse  of  the 
pretty  pictures." 

Unquestioningly,  he  obeyed  her,  the  book,  illumined, 
gleaming  in  the  sunshine ;  the  letters,  red,  gold,  many- 
hued,  dancing  before  them.  Love  in  crimson,  the 
five  silver  shafts  of  Cupid,  the  Tower  of  Jealousy,  a 
frowning  fortress,  the  Rose,  incentive  for  endless 


62  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

striving  and  endeavor — all  floated  by  on  the  creamy 
parchment  leaves.  So  interested  was  she  in  these 
wondrous  pages,  executed  with  such  precision  and 
perfection,  with  marginal  adornment,  and  many  a 
graceful  turn  and  fancy  in  initial  letter  and  tail-piece, 
she  seemed  to  him  for  the  moment  rather  some  simple 
lowly  maiden  than  a  proud  princess  of  the  realm. 

"How  much  splendor  the  penman  has  shown !"  she 
murmured,  her  breath  on  his  cheek.  "  'Tis  more  beau- 
tiful than  the  'Life  of  Saint  Agnes.'  Is  not  that  figure 
well  done?  A  hard,  austere  old  man;  Reason,  I  be- 
lieve, in  monkish  attire." 

"Reason,  or  Duty,  ever  partakes  of  the  monastery," 
he  retorted  with  a  short,  mirthless  laugh. 

"Duty ;  obedience !"  she  broke  in.  "Do  I  not  know 
them?  Please  turn  the  page." 

Reaching  over,  she  herself  did  so,  her  fingers  touch- 
ing his,  her  bosom  just  brushing  his  shoulder;  and  then 
she  flushed,  for  it  was  Venus's  self  the  page  revealed, 
standing  on  a  grassy  bank  and  showing  Love  the 
rose.  Around  the  queen  of  beauty  floated  a  silver 
gauze ;  her  hair  was  indicated  by  threads  of  gold  tossed 
luxuriantly  about  her;  upon  the  shoulder  of  Love 
rested  her  hand,  encouraging  him  in  his  quest.  Most 
zealously  had  the  monk-artist  executed  the  lovely 
lady,  as  though  some  heart-dream  flowed  from  the 


THE    PRINCESS'    FAN  63 

ink  on  his  pen,  every  line  exact,  each  feature  radiantly 
shown.  Some  youthful  anchorite,  perhaps,  was  he, 
and  this  the  fair  temptation  that  had  assailed  his 
fancy;  such  a  vision  as  St.  Anthony  wrestled  with  in 
the  grievous  solitude  of  his  hermit  cell. 

From  the  book  and  the  picture,  the  jester,  feeling 
the  princess  draw  back  impulsively,  dared  look  up, 
and,  looking  up,  could  not  look  down  from  a  loveli- 
ness surpassing  the  idealization  on  vellum  of  a  monk- 
ish dream.  From  head  to  foot,  the  sunlight  bathed 
the  princess,  glistening  in  her  hair  until  it  was  alive 
with  light.  Even  when  he  gazed  into  her  blue  eyes 
he  was  conscious  of  a  more  flaming  glory  than  lay  in 
the  heavens  of  their  depths;  a  splendent  maze  that 
shed  a  brightness  around  her. 

"Oh,  Princess,"  he  said,  wildly,  "I  know  what  the 
king  hath  told  you!  Why  you  wear  the  monarch's 
ring!" 

"The  monarch's  ring !"  she  repeated,  as  recalled  sud- 
denly from  wandering  thought.  "Why — how  know 
you — ah,  Jacqueline — " 

"And  a  ring  signifieth  consent.  You  will  fulfill  the 
king's  desire?" 

"The  king's  desire?"  she  replied,  mechanically.  "Is 
it  not  the  will  of  God?" 


64  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

"But  your  own  heart?"  he  cried,  holding  her  with 
his  eager  gaze. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder;  her  eyes  an- 
swered his.  Did  she  not  realize  the  tragedy  the  future 
held  for  him?  Or  did  to-morrow  seem  far  off,  and 
the  present  become  her  greater  concern?  Was  hers 
the  philosophy  of  Marguerite's  code  which  taught  that 
the  sweets  of  admiration  should  be  gathered  on  the 
moment?  That  a  cry  of  pain  from  a  worshiping 
heart,  however  lowly,  was  honeyed  flattery  to  Love's 
votaries?  As  the  jester  looked  at  her  a  sudden  chill 
seized  his  breast.  Jacqueline's  mocking  laughter 
rang  in  his  ears.  "Ask  her  the  rest  yourself,  most 
Unsophisticated  Fool !" 

"Then  you  will  obey  the  king?"  he  persisted,  dully. 

"Why,"  she  answered,  smiling  and  bending  nearer, 
"will  you  spoil  the  day  ?" 

"You  would  give  yourself  to  a  man,  whether  or  not 
you  loved  him  ?" 

A  frown  gathered  on  the  princess'  brow,  but  she 
stooped,  herself  picked  up  the  book  he  had  dropped, 
brushed  the  earth  from  it  and  seated  herself  upon  the 
bench.  Her  manner  was  quiet,  resolute;  her  action, 
a  rebuke  to  the  forward  fool. 

"Will  you  not  read?"  she  said,  with  an  inscrutable 
look. 


THE    PRINCESS'    FAN  65 

"True,"  he  exclaimed,  rising  quickly,  "I  was  sent  to 
amuse — " 

"And  you  have  found  me  a  too  exacting  mistress  ?" 
she  asked,  more  gently,  checking  the  implied  reproach. 

"Exacting!"  he  repeated. 

"What  then  ?"  she  said,  half  sadly. 

"Nothing,"  he  answered. 

But  in  his  mind  Jacqueline's  scornful  words  re- 
iterated themselves :  "Think  you  the  princess  will 
wear  the  willow?" 

Taking  the  book,  he  opened  it  at  random,  me- 
chanically sinking  at  her  feet.  The  quest,  the  idle 
quest!  Was  it  but  an  awakening?  So  far  lay  the 
branch  above  his  reach !  His  voice  rose  and  fell  with 
the  mystic  rhythm  of  the  meter,  now  dwelling  on 
death  and  danger,  the  shortness  of  life,  the  sweetness 
of  passion ;  then  telling  the  pleasures  of  the  dance. 

Lower  fell  the  princess'  hand  until  it  touched  the 
reader's  head ;  touched  and  lingered.  Before  the  fool's 
eyes  the  letters  of  the  book  became  blurred  and  then 
faded  away.  Doubt,  misgiving,  fear,  vanished  on  the 
moment.  The  flower  she  had  given  him  seemed  to 
burn  on  his  heart.  He  forgot  the  decree  of  the  king; 
her  equivocation;  the  unanswered  question.  Passion- 
ately he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  doublet. 


66  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"The  rose  and  love  are  one,"  he  cried.  "The  rose 
is—" 

"Pardon  me,  Madam,"  said  a  voice,  and  Jacqueline, 
clear-eyed,  calm,  stood  before  them ;  "the  fan  was  not 
in  the  king's  ante-chamber,  or  I  should  have  been  here 
sooner.  I  trust  you  have  not  been  put  out  for  want 
of  it?" 

"Not  at  all,  Jacqueline,"  returned  her  mistress,  with 
a  natural,  tranquil  movement,  "although" — sharply — 
"you  were  gone  longer  than  you  should  have  been !" 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   ARRIVAL   OF   THE   DUKE 
/ 

Proficient  as  a  poet,  bold  as  a  soldier,  adroit  as  a 
statesman,  the  king  was,  nevertheless,  most  fitted  for 
the  convivial  role  of  host,  and  no  part  that  he  played 
in  his  varied  repertoire  afforded  such  opportunity  for 
the  nice  display  of  his  unusual  talents.  History  hath 
sneered  at  his  rhymes  as  flat,  stale  and  unprofitable ; 
upon  the  bloody  field  he  had  been  defeated  and 
subsequently  imprisoned;  clever  in  diplomacy,  the 
sagacity  of  his  opponent,  Charles,  had  in  truth  over- 
matched him;  yet  as  the  ostentatious  Boniface,  in 
grand  bib  and  tucker,  prodigal  in  joviality  and  good- 
fellowship,  his  reputation  rests  without  a  flaw. 

In  anticipation  of  the  arrival  of  the  duke  and  his 
suite,  the  monarch  had  ordered  a  series  of  festivities 
and  entertainments  such  as  would  gratify  his  desire 
for  pageantry  and  display,  and  at  the  same  time  do 
honor  to  a  guest  who  was  to  espouse  one  of  France's 
fairest  wards.  To  the  castle  repaired  tailors,  em- 

67 


68  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

broiderers  and  goldsmiths  to  make  and  devise  gar- 
ments for  knights,  ladies,  lords  and  esquires  and  for 
the  trapping,  decking  and  adorning  of  coursers,  jen- 
nets and  palfries.  Bales  of  silks  and  satins  had  been 
long  since  conveyed  thither  from  distant  Paris,  in  an- 
ticipation of  the  coming  marriage ;  and  the  old  Nor- 
man castle  that  had  once  resounded  with  the  clash- 
ing of  arms,  the  snap  of  the  cross-bow  and  the  clang 
of  the  catapult  now  echoed  with  the  merry  stir  and 
flurry  of  peace ;  a  bee-hive  of  activity  wherein  were 
no  drones;  marshal,  grand  master,  chancellor  and 
grand  chamberlain  preparing  for  mysteries  and  hunt- 
ing parties ;  dowagers,  matrons  and  maids  making 
ready  for  balls  and  other  pastimes. 

With  this  new  influx  of  population  to  the  pleasure 
palace  came  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  wayside  min- 
strels, jugglers,  mountebanks,  dulcimer  and  lute  play- 
ers, street  poets  who  sang  the  praises  of  some  fair  cob- 
bleress  or  pretty  sausage  girl ;  scamps  of  students  from 
the  Paris  haunts  of  vice,  loose  fellows  who  conned 
the  classical  poets  by  day  and  took  a  purse  by  night ; 
dancers,  dwarfs,  and  merry  men  all,  not  averse  to — 

"Haunch  and  ham,  and  cheek  and  chine 
While  they  gurgled  their  throats  with  right  good  wine." 

Here  sauntered  a  wit-cracker,  a  peacock  feather  in 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    DUKE       69 

his  hand,  arm-in-arm  with  an  impoverished  "ban- 
quet beagle,"  or  "feast  hound;"  there  passed  a  jack 
in  green,  a  bladder  under  his  arm  and  a  tankard  at 
his  belt,  with  which  latter  he  begged  that  sort  of  alms 
that  flows  from  a  spigot.  As  vagrant  followers 
hover  on  the  verge  of  a  camp,  or  watchful  vultures 
circle  around  their  prey,  so  these  lower  parasites  (dis- 
tinct from  the  other  well-born,  more  aristocratic  genus 
of  smell-feast)  prowled  vigilantly  without  the  castle 
walls  and  beyond  the  limits  of  the  royal  pleasure 
grounds,  finding  occasional  employment  from  lackey, 
valet  or  equerry,  who,  imitating  their  betters,  amused 
themselves  betimes  with  some  low  buffoon  or  vulgar 
clown  and  rewarded  him  for  his  gross  stories  and 
antics  with  a  crust  and  a  cup. 

Faith,  in  those  thrice  happy  days,  every  henchman 
could  whistle  to  him  his  shabby  poet,  and  every  ostler 
hold  court  in  the  stable,  with  a  visdase,  or  ass  face,  to 
keep  the  audience  in  a  roar,  and  a  nimble-footed  trull 
to  set  them  into  ecstasies.  But  woe  betide  the  honest 
wayfarer  who  strolled  beyond  the  orderly  precincts  of 
the  king's  walls  after  dusk;  for  if  some  street  cox- 
comb was  too  drunk  to  rob  him,  or  a  ribald  Latin 
scholar  saw  him  not,  he  surely  ran  into  a  nest  of  pave- 
ment tumblers  or  cellar  poets  who  forthwith  stripped 


70  UNDERTHEROSE 

him  and  turned  him  loose  in  the  all-insufficient  garb  of 
nature. 

A  fantastic,  waggish  crew — yet  Francis  minded 
them  not,  so  long  as  they  observed  sufficient  etiquette 
to  keep  their  distance  from  his  royal  person  and  im- 
mediate following.  This  nice  decorum,  however,  be 
it  said,  was  an  unwritten  law  with  these  waifs  and 
scatterlings,  knowing  the  merry  monarch  who  tol- 
erated them  afar  would  feel  no  compunction  at  hanging 
them  severally,  or  in  squads,  from  the  convenient 
branches  of  the  trees  surrounding  the  castle,  should 
the  humor  seize  him  that  such  summary  chastisement 
were  best  for  their  morals  and  the  welfare  of  the 
community.  Thus,  though  bold,  were  they  also  shy, 
drinking  humbly  from  a  black-jack  quart  in  the  kitchen 
and  vanishing  docilely  enough  when  the  sovereign  cook 
bid  them  be  gone  with  warm  words  or  by  flinging  over 
them  ladles  of  hot  soup. 

One  bright  morning,  like  rabbits  peeping  from  their 
holes  when  they  hear  the  footfall  of  the  hunter,  these 
field  ramblers  and  wayside  peregrinators  were  all  agog, 
emerging  from  grassy  cover  and  thicket  retreat,  to 
gaze  open-mouthed  after  a  gay  cavalcade  that  issued 
from  the  castle  gate,  and  rode  southward  with  wav- 
ing banner  and  piercing  trumpet  note. 

"The  king,  knaves !"  cried  a  grimy  estray  with  bells 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    DUKE        71 

upon  his  person  that  jingled  like  those  of  a  Jewish 
high  priest,  to  a  group  of  players  and  gamesters.  "Al- 
ready my  mouth  waters  at  the  thoughts  of  the  wedding 
feast,  and  the  scraps  and  bones  that  will  be  thrown 
away.  There  I  warrant  you  we'll  all  find  hearty 
cheer." 

"Why  are  fools  ever  welcome  at  a  wedding  ?"  asked 
a  singing  scholar. 

"Because  there  are  two  in  the  ceremony,  and  the 
rest  make  the  chorus,"  answered  a  philandering  mime. 

"And  our  merry  monarch  goeth  down  the  road  to 
meet  one  of  the  two,"  said  a  close-cropped  rogue. 

"Well,  he's  a  brave  knight  to  come  so  far  to  yield 
himself  captive — to  a  woman,"  returned  the  student. 
"As  Horace  saith— " 

"Thou  calumniator !  shrimp  of  a  man !"  exclaimed  a 
dark-browed  drab  dressed  like  a  gipsy,  seizing  the 
scholar's  short  doublet.  "An  I  get  at  you — " 

"Take  the  garment,  you  harridan,  not  the  man,"  he 
retorted,  slipping  deftly  out  of  the  jerkin  and  dancing 
away  to  a  safe  distance. 

"Ha !  there's  wedded  bliss  for  you !"  laughed  a  man 
in  Franciscan  attire,  a  rough  rascal  disguised  as  one 
of  those  priests  called  "God's  fools"  or  "Christ's  fools." 
"A  week  ago,  when  I  married  them,  they  were  billing 
and  cooing.  But  to  your  holes,  children!  When  the 


72  UNDERTHEROSE 

king  returns  he  would  not  have  his  guest  gaze  upon 
such  scarecrows  and  trollops.  Disperse,  and  Beelze- 
bub take  you !"  And  as  the  group  scattered  the  sound 
of  beating  horses'  hoofs  died  away  in  the  distance. 

Francis  was  unusually  good-humored  that  day.  Ap- 
prised by  a  herald  that  the  duke  and  his  followers  were 
nearing  the  castle,  he  had  sent  the  messenger  back  an- 
nouncing a  trysting-place,  and  now  rode  forth  to  meet 
his  guest  and  escort  him  with  honor  to  the  castle. 
Upon  a  noble  steed,  black  as  night,  the  monarch  sat; 
the  saddle  and  trappings  crimson  in  color ;  the  stirrup 
and  bit,  of  gold ;  a  jaunty  plume  of  white  ostrich  feath- 
ers waving  above  the  jetty  mane.  The  costume  of  the 
king's  stalwart  figure  displayed  a  splendid  suit  of  plate 
armor,  enriched  with  chased  work  and  ornament  in 
gold,  his  appearance  in  keeping  with  his  character  of 
monarch  and  knight  who  sought  to  revive  the  spirit 
of  chivalry  at  a  period  when  the  practical  modern 
tendencies  seriously  threatened  to  undermine  the  prac- 
tices and  traditions  of  a  once-exalted,  but  now  fast- 
failing,  institution  for  the  regulation  of  morals  and 
conduct. 

By  his  side,  less  radiant  only  in  comparison  with  the 
august  monarch,  rode  the  rank  and  quality  of  the 
realm,  with  silver  and  spangles,  and  fluttering  plumes, 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    DUKE        73 

scabbards  gleaming  with  jewels,  and  girdles  adorned 
with  rich  settings.  Furiously  galloping  behind  came 
an  attenuated  snow-white  charger,  bearing  the  hunch- 
back. A  bladder  dangling  over  his  shoulder,  his  bag- 
pipe hanging  from  his  waist,  Triboulet  bobbed  fran- 
tically up  and  down,  clinging  desperately  to  the  saddle 
or  winding  his  legs  about  the  charger's  neck  to  pre- 
serve his  equilibrium. 

"You  would  better  jog  along  more  quietly,  fool," 
observed  a  courtier,  warningly,  "or  you  will  suffer  for 
it." 

"Alas,  sir,"  replied  Triboulet,  "I  stick  my  spurs 
into  my  horse  to  keep  him  quiet,  but  the  more  I  prick 
him  the  more  unruly  I  find  the  obstinate  beast." 

The  king,  who  heard,  laughed,  and  the  dwarf's 
heart  immediately  expanded,  auguring  he  should  soon 
be  restored  to  the  monarch's  favor;  for  since  the 
night  the  buffoon  had  failed  to  answer  the  duke's 
jester  in  Fools'  hall  Francis  had  received  Triboulet's 
advances  and  small  pleasantries  with  terrifying  cold- 
ness. In  fact,  the  dwarf  had  never  passed  such  an 
uncomfortable  period  during  his  career,  save  on  one 
memorable  occasion  when  a  band  of  mischievous  pages 
had  set  upon  him,  carried  him  to  the  scaffold  and 
nailed  his  enormous  ears  to  the  beam.  Now,  reas- 


74  UNDERTHEROSE 

sured,  burning  with  delight,  the  jester  spurred  pre- 
sumptuously forward,  no  longer  feeling  bound  to  lag 
in  the  rear. 

"Go  back !"  cried  an  angry  knight.  "I  can  not  bear 
a  fool  on  my  right." 

Triboulet  reined  in  his  horse,  but  pushed  ahead  on 
the  other  side  of  the  rider  who  had  spoken. 

"I  can  bear  it  very  well,"  he  retorted  and  found  his 
proud  reward  in  the  company's  laughter.  The  re- 
mark, moreover,  passed  from  lip  to  lip  to  the  king, 
and  the  misshapen  jester  felt  his  little  cup  of  happiness 
filled  once  more  to  the  brim;  his  old  prestige  seemed 
coming  back  to  him ;  holding  his  position  in  the  road, 
he  gazed  disdainfully  at  the  disgruntled  knight,  and 
the  other  returned  the  look  with  one  of  hearty  ill-will, 
muttering  an  imprecation  and  warning  just  above  his 
breath. 

"Sire,"  called  out  Triboulet,  loudly,  now  above  fear- 
ing courtier,  knight  or  any  high  official  of  the  realm, 
"the  Count  de  Piseione  says  he  will  beat  me  to  death." 

"If  he  does,"  good-naturedly  answered  the  king, 
"I  will  hang  him  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward." 

"Please,  your  Majesty,  hang  him  quarter  of  an  hour 
before." 

Thus  right  pleasantly,  with  quip  and  jest,  and  many 
a  smart  sally,  did  the  monarch  and  his  retinue  draw 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    DUKE        75 

near  the  meeting  spot,  where  at  a  fork  of  the  road, 
beneath  the  shade  of  overhanging  branches,  were  al- 
ready assembled  a  goodly  group  of  soldiers.  Beyond 
them,  at  a  respectful  distance,  stood  many  beasts  of 
burden,  heavily  laden,  the  great  packs  promising  stores 
of  rare  and  costly  gifts.  At  the  head  of  the  troopers 
was  a  thick-set  man,  with  broad  shoulders  and  brawny 
frame,  mounted  on  a  powerful  gray  horse.  This  lead- 
er, whom  the  approaching  company  surmised  to  be  the 
duke,  sat  motionless  as  a  statue,  gazing  steadfastly 
at  the  shining  armor  and  gallant  figure  of  the  king 
who  spurred  to  him,  a  friendly  greeting  on  his  lips. 
Then,  lightly  springing  to  earth  and  throwing  his 
bridle  to  one  of  his  troop,  the  foreign  noble  approached 
the  royal  horseman  on  foot,  and,  bending  his  head, 
knelt  before  him,  respectfully  kissing  his  hand. 

Grim,  silent,  with  hardened  faces,  the  duke's  men 
regarded  the  scene,  their  dusty  attire  (albeit  rich 
enough  beneath  the  marks  of  travel),  sun-burned 
visages  and  stolid  manner  in  marked  contrast  with  the 
bearing  and  aspect  of  the  king's  gay  following.  One 
of  the  alien  troop  pulled  a  red  mustachio  fiercely 
and  eyed  a  blithe  popinjay  of  the  court  with  quizzical 
superiority;  the  others  remained,  stock-still,  but  ob- 
servant. 

"I  see  you  are  punctual  and  waiting,  noble  sir!" 


76  UNDERTHEROSE 

said  the  monarch  gaily  when  the  initial  formalities  had 
been  complied  with.  "But  that  is  no  more  than  should 
be  expected  from — an  impatient  bridegroom."  Then, 
gazing  curiously,  yet  with  penetrating  look,  on  the 
features  of  his  guest,  who  now  had  arisen :  "You  ap- 
pear slightly  older  than  I  expected  from  the  letter  of 
our  dear  friend  and  brother,  the  emperor." 

And  truly  the  duke's  appearance  was  that  of  a  man 
more  nearly  five  and  thirty  than  five  and  twenty ;  his 
face  was  brown  from  exposure  and  upon  his  brow  the 
scar  of  an  old  sword  wound ;  yet  a  fearless,  dashing 
countenance ;  an  eye  that  could  kindle  to  headlong  pas- 
sion, and  a  thick-set  neck  and  heavy  jaw  that  bespoke 
the  foeman  who  would  battle  to  the  last  breath. 

"Older,  Sire?"  he  replied  with  composure.  "That 
must  needs  be,  since  living  in  the  saddle  ages  a  man." 

"Truly,"  returned  the  monarch,  instinctively  laying 
his  hand  upon  his  sword.  "The  clash  of  arms,  the 
thunder  of  hoofs,  the  waving  banners — yes,  Glory  is 
a  seductive  mistress  who  robs  us  of  our  youth.  Have 
I  not  wooed  her  and  found — gray  hairs?  Who  shall 
give  me  back  those  days  ?" 

"History,  your  Majesty,  shall  give  them  to  pos- 
terity," answered  the  duke. 

"Even  those  we  lost  to  Charles  ?"  muttered  the  king, 
a  shadow  passing  over  his  countenance. 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    DUKE       77 

"Glory,  Sire,  is  a  mistress  sometimes  fickle  in  her 
favors." 

"And  yet  we  live  but  for — "  He  broke  off  abruptly, 
and  with  the  eye  of  a  trained  commander  surveyed  the 
duke's  men.  "Daredevils;  daredevils,  all!"  he  mut- 
tered. 

"Rough-looking  fellows,  Sire !"  apologized  the  duke, 
"but  tried  and  faithful  soldiers.  Somewhat  dusty  and 
road-worn."  And  his  eyes  turned  meaningly  to  the 
king's  suite;  the  flashing  girdles  of  silver,  the  shining 
hilts,  the  gorgeous  cloaks  and  even  the  adornment  of 
ribbons. 

"Nay,"  said  Francis  meditatively,  "on  a  rough  jour- 
ney I  would  fain  have  these  fire-eaters  at  my  back. 
They  look  as  though  they  could  cut  and  hew." 

"Moderately  well,  your  Majesty,"  answered  the 
duke  with  modesty. 

"Will  you  mount,  noble  sir,  and  ride  with  me? 
Yonder  is  the  castle,  and  in  the  castle  is  a  certain  fair 
lady  whom  you,  no  doubt,  fain  would  see." 

Long  gazed  the  Duke  of  Friedwald  at  the  distant 
venerable  pile  of  stone ;  the  majestic  turrets  and  towers 
softly  floating  in  a  dreamy  mist;  the  setting,  fresh, 
woody,  green.  Long  he  looked  at  this  inviting  picture 
and  then  breathed  deeply. 


78  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Ah,  Sire,  I  would  the  meeting  were  over,"  he  re- 
marked in  a  low  voice. 

"Why  so,  sir?"  asked  the  king  in  surprise.  "Do 
you  fear  you  will  not  fancy  the  lady  ?" 

"I  fear  she  may  not  fancy  me,"  retorted  the  noble- 
man, soberly.  "Your  own  remark,  Sire ;  that  I  appear 
older  than  you  had  expected?"  he  continued,  gravely, 
significantly. 

"A  recommendation  in  your  favor,"  laughed  the 
monarch.  "I  ever  prefer  sober  manhood  to  callow 
youth  about  me.  The  one  is  a  prop,  stanch,  tried ; 
the  other  a  reed  that  bends  this  way  and  that,  or  breaks 
when  you  press  it  too  hard." 

"I  should  be  lacking  in  gratitude  were  I  not  deeply 
appreciative  of  your  Majesty's  singular  kindness,"  re- 
plied the  duke,  his  face  flushing  with  pleasure.  "But 
your  Majesty  knows  womankind — " 

"Nay;  I've  studied  them  a  little,  but  know  them 
not,"  retorted  Francis,  dryly. 

"And  it  is  unlikely  the  lady  may  find  me  all  her 
miagination  has  depicted,"  went  on  the  nobleman,  with 
palpable  embarrassment.  "My  noble  master,  the  em- 
peror, hath — regarding  me  still  as  but  a  stripling  from 
his  own  vantage  point  of  age  and  wisdom — represented 
me  a  young  man  in  his  proposals.  But  though  I'm 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    DUKE        79 

younger  than  I  look,  and  feel  no  older  than  I  am,  how 
young,  or  how  old,  shall  I  seem  to  the  princess  ?" 

"Young  enough  to  be  her  husband ;  old  enough  for 
her  to  look  up  to,"  answered  the  monarch,  reassur- 
ingly. 

"Again,"  objected  the  duke,  meditatively  regarding 
the  castle,  "she  may  be  expecting  a  handsome,  de- 
bonair bridegroom,  and  when  she  sees  me" — rue- 
fully surveying  himself — "what  will  she  say?" 

"What  will  she  say?  'Yes'  at  the  altar.  Is  it  not 
enough?"  Leaning  back  in  his  saddle,  the  king's 
face  expressed  the  enjoyment  he  derived  from  the 
conversation  with  the  backward  and  too  conscientious 
soldier.  Here  was  a  groom  whose  wedding  promised 
the  court  much  amusement  and  satisfaction  in  those 
jovial  days  of  jesting  and  merry-making. 

"Come,"  resumed  the  king,  encouragingly,  "I'll 
warrant  you  more  forward  in  battle." 

"Battle!"  said  the  duke.  "That's  another  matter. 
To  see  your  foeman's  gleaming  eyes! — but  hers! — 
Should  they  express  anger,  disdain — " 

"Let  yours  show  but  the  greater  wrath,"  advised 
the  king,  complaisantly.  "In  love,  like  cures  like! 
Let  me  be  your  physician;  I'll  warrant  you'll  find  me 
proficient." 


80  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"I've  heard  your  Majesty  hath  practised  deeply," 
returned  the  noble,  readily,  in  spite  of  his  perplexity. 

"Deeply?"  Francis  lifted  his  brow.  "I  am  but  a 
superficial  student ;  master  only  of  the  rudiments ;  no 
graduate  of  the  college  of  love.  Moreover,  I've  heard 
the  letters  you  exchanged  were — ahem  ! — well- 
enough  writ.  You  pressed  your  suit  warmly  for  one 
unlearned,  a  mere  novice." 

"Because  I  had  seen  her  face,  your  Majesty;  had  it 
ever  before  me  in  the  painted  miniature.  Any  man" 
— with  a  rough  eloquence  and  fervor  that  impressed 
the  king  with  the  depth  of  his  passion — "could  well 
worship  at  that  fair  shrine,  but  that  she — " 

"Forward,  I  beg  you!"  interrupted  the  king. 
"Womankind  are  but  frail  flesh,  sir;  easily  molded; 
easily  won.  She  is  a  woman ;  therefore,  soft,  yielding ; 
yours  for  the  asking.  You  are  over  valorous  at  a  dis- 
tance; too  timorous  near  her.  Approach  her  boldly, 
and,  though  she  were  Diana's  self,  I'll  answer  for  your 
victory!  Eh,  Triboulet,  are  our  ladies  cold-hearted, 
callous,  indifferent  to  merit  ?" 

"Cold-hearted?"  answered  the  dwarf,  with  a  ludi- 
crous expression  of  feigned  rapture.  "Were  I  to  re- 
late— but,  no,  my  tongue  is  silent — discretion — your 
Majesty  will  understand — " 

"Well,"  said  the  duke,  "with  encouragement  from 


ARRIVAL    OF    THE    DUKE        81 

the  best-favored  scholar  in  the  kingdom  and  the — 
ugliest,  I  should  proceed  with  more  confidence." 

"Best-favored !"  smirked  the  little  monster.  "Real- 
ly, you  flatter  me." 

"A  whimsical  fellow,  Sire,"  vouchsafed  the  noble- 
man. 

"When  he  is  not  tiresome,"  answered  the  monarch. 
"On,  gentlemen !"  And  the  cavalcade  swept  down  the 
road  toward  the  castle.  Far  behind,  with  cracking  of 
whip,  followed  the  mules  and  their  drivers. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE   COURT   OF   LOVE 

The  rough  Norman  banqueting  hall,  with  its  mass- 
ive rafters,  frayed  tapestries  and  rude  adornment  of 
bristling  heads  of  savage  boars,  wide-spreading  antlers 
and  other  trophies  of  the  chase,  had  long  since  been 
replaced  under  the  king's  directions  by  an  apartment 
more  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  monarch  who  was  a 
zealous  and  lavish  patron  of  the  brilliant  Italian  school 
of  painting,  sculpture  and  architecture.  Those  bar- 
barous decorations,  celebrating  the  hunt,  had  been 
relegated  to  subterranean  regions,  the  walls  disman- 
tled, and  the  room  turned  over  to  a  corps  of  artists 
of  such  renown  as  Da  Vinci,  Frangois  Clouet,  Jean 
Cousin  and  the  half-mad  Benvenuto  Cellini. 

Where  formerly  wild  boars  had  snarled  with  wicked 
display  of  yellow  tusks  from  the  blackened  plaster, 
now  Cleopatra,  in  the  full  bloom  of  her  mature  charms, 
reclined  with  her  stalwart  Roman  hero  in  tender  dal- 
liance. Where  once  the  proud  and  stately  head  of  the 

82 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  83 

majestic  stag  had  hung  over  door  and  panel,  now 
classic  nymphs  bathed  in  a  pellucid  pool,  and  the  only 
horns  were  those  which  adorned  the  head  of  him  wha, 
according  to  the  story,  dared  gaze  through  the  foliage, 
and  was  rewarded  for  his  too  curious  interest  by — 
that  then  common  form  of  punishment — metamor- 
phosis. 

Overhead,  vast  transformation  from  the  great 
ribbed  beams  of  oak  and  barren  interspaces,  graceful 
Peri  floated  on  snow-white  clouds  and  roguish  Cupids 
swam  through  the  azure  depths,  to  the  edification  of 
nondescript  prodigies,  who  constituted  the  massive 
molding,  or  frame,  to  the  decorative  scene.  The  an- 
cient fireplace,  broad  and  deep,  had  given  way  to  an 
ornate  mantel  of  marble;  the  capacious  tankard  and 
rotund  pewter  pot  of  olden  times,  suggestive  of  mighty 
butts  of  honest  beer,  had  been  supplanted  by  goblets 
of  silver  and  gold,  covered  with  scroll  work,  ara- 
besques or  chiseled  figures. 

In  this  spacious  hall,  begilt,  bemirrored,  assembled, 
on  the  evening  of  the  duke's  arrival,  Francis,  his 
court  and  the  guest  of  the  occasion.  From  wide- 
spreading  chandeliers,  with  their  pendent,  pear-shaped 
crystals,  a  thousand  candles  threw  a  flood  of  light 
upon  the  scene,  as  'mid  trumpet  blast  and  softer  strains 
of  harmony,  King  Francis  and  good  Queen  Eleanor 


84  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

led  the  way  to  the  royal  table;  and  thereat,  shortly 
after,  at  a  signal  from  the  monarch,  the  company 
seated  themselves. 

At  the  head  of  the  board  was  the  king- ;  on  his  right, 
his  lawful  consort,  pale,  composed,  saintly ;  on  his  left, 
the  Countess  d'Etampes,  rosy,  animated,  free.  Next 
to  the  favorite  sat  the  "fairest  among  the  learned  and 
most  learned  among  the  fair,"  Marguerite,  beloved 
sister  of  Francis,  and  her  second  husband,  Henry 
d'Albret,  King  of  Navarre;  opposite,  Henry  the 
dauphin  and  his  spouse,  Catharine  de  Medici;  not  far 
removed,  Diane  de  Poitiers,  whose  dark  eyes  Henry 
ever  openly  sought,  while  Catharine  complacently 
talked  affairs  of  state  with  the  chancellor. 

In  the  midst  of  this  illustrious  company,  and  fur- 
ther surrounded  by  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  ruddy 
cardinals,  fat  bishops,  constables,  governors,  marshals 
and  ladies,  more  or  less  distinguished  through  birth 
or  beauty,  the  Duke  of  Friedwald  and  the  Princess 
Louise  were  a  center  of  attraction  for  the  wits  whose 
somewhat  free  jests  the  license  of  the  times  permitted. 
At  the  foot  of  the  royal  table  places  had  been  provided 
for  Marot,  Caillette,  Triboulet,  Jacqueline  and  the 
duke's  fool. 

The  heads  and  figures  of  the  ladies  of  the  court 
were  for  the  most  part  fearfully  and  wonderfully  be- 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  85 

decked.  In  some  instances  the  horned-shaped  head- 
dress had  been  followed  by  yet  loftier  steeples,  "bat- 
tlements to  combat  God  with  gold,  silver  and  pearls; 
wherein  the  lances  were  great  forked  pins,  and  the  ar- 
rows the  little  pins."  With  more  simplicity,  the 
Princess  Louise  wore  her  hair  cased  in  a  network  of 
gold  and  jewels,  and  the  austere  French  moralist  who 
assailed  the  higher  bristling  ramparts  of  vanity  would, 
perhaps,  have  borne  in  silence  this  more  modest  bastion 
of  the  flesh  and  the  devil. 

But  the  face  beneath  was  a  greater  danger  to  those 
who  hold  that  beauty  is  a  menace  to  salvation ;  on  her 
cheek  hung  the  rosy  banner  of  youth;  in  her  eyes 
shone  the  bright  arrows  of  conquest.  And  the  duke, 
discarding  his  backwardness,  as  a  soldier  his  cloak 
before  battle,  watched  the  hue  that  mantled  her  face, 
proffered  his  open  breast  to  the  shining  lances  of 
her  gaze,  and  capitulated  unconditionally  before  the 
smile  of  victory  on  her  blood-red  lips.  With  his  great 
shoulders,  his  massive  neck  and  broad,  virile  face,  he 
seemed  a  Cyclops  among  pygmies  in  that  gathering  of 
slender  courtiers  and  she  but  a  flower  by  his  side. 

"I  thought,  Sire,  your  duke  was  timorous,  bashful 
as  a  boy?"  murmured  the  Countess  d'Etampes  to  the 
king. 


86  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"He  was — on  the  road!"  answered  the  king* 
thoughtfully. 

"Then  has  he  marvelously  recovered  his  assurance." 

"In  love,  Madam,  as  in  battle,  the  zest  grows  with 
the  fray,"  said  Francis  with  meaning. 

"And  the  duke  is  reputed  a  brave  soldier.  He 
looks  very  strong,  as  if — almost — he  might  succeed 
with  any  woman  he  were  minded  to  carry  off." 

"To  carry  off!"  laughed  the  monarch.  "  Tis  he, 
Madam,  who  will  be  bound  in  tethers !  At  heart  he's 
shame-faced  as  a  callow  younker." 
!  She  wilfully  shook  her  head.  "No  woman  could 
keep  him  in  leading-strings,  your  Majesty.  There  is 
something  domineering,  savage,  crushing,  in  his  hand. 
Look  at  it,  on  the  table  there.  Is  it  not  mighty  as  an 
iron  gauntlet?  What  other  man  at  the  board  has 
such  a  brutal  hand?  The  strength  in  it  makes  me 
shudder.  Will  she  not  bend  to  it ;  kiss  it  ?" 
i  With  amused  superiority  Francis  regarded  his  fair 
neighbor  on  the  left.  "Women,  Madam,  are  but  hasty 
judges  of  men,"  he  said,  dryly,  "and  then  'tis  fancy 
more  than  reason  which  governs  their  verdict.  If  the 
duke  should  seem  over-confident,  'tis  to  hide  a  certain 
modesty,  and  not  to  appear  out  of  confidence  in  so 
large  a  company." 
j  "And  yet,  Sire,  at  their  first  meeting  he  did  not  com- 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  87 

port  himself  like  one  easily  put  out,"  persisted  the 
favorite.  " '  'Tis  with  a  cold  hand  you  welcome  me, 
Princess,'  he  said,  noticing  her  insensibility  of  man- 
ner. Then  rising  he  gazed  upon  her  long  and  deep, 
as  a  soldier  might  survey  a  battlefield.  'And  yet/ 
said  he,  still  holding  her  fingers,  'I'll  warrant  me  warm 
blood  could  course  through  this  little  hand.'  At  that 
the  color  rose  in  her  cheek;  behold!  the  statue  was 
touched  with  life  and  she  looked  at  him  as  drawn 
against  her  will.  'If  my  hand  be  cold,  my  Lord,'  she 
answered,  courteously,  'it  belies  the  character  of  your 
welcome.'  Whereupon  he  laughed  like  one  who  has 
had  a  victory." 

"Beshrew  me,"  said  the  king,  modifying  his  last 
observation,  "if  women  are  not  all  eyes  and  ears!  I 
neither  heard  nor  saw  all  that.  A  little  constraint — 
a  natural  blush  to  punctuate  their  talk — the  meeting 
seemed  conventional  enough.  'Tis  through  your  own 
romantic  heart  you  looked,  Anne!" 

Quicker  circulated  the  goblets  of  silver,  gold  and 
crystal;  faster  babbled  the  pretty  lips;  brighter  grew 
the  eyes  beneath  the  stupendous  towers  that 
crowned  the  heads  of  the  court  ladies.  All  talked  at 
once  without  disturbing  the  king,  who  now  whispered 
soft  nothings  in  the  ear  of  the  countess.  From  the 
other  tables  in  the  hall  arose  a  varying  cadence  of 


88  UNDERTHEROSE 

clatter  and  laughter,  which  increased  with  the  noise 
and  din  of  the  king's  own  board;  a  clamor  always  just 
subservient  to  the  deeper  chorus  of  the  royal  party; 
an  accompaniment,  as  it  were,  full  yet  unobtrusive,  to 
the  hubbub  from  the  more  exalted  company.  But  the 
princely  uproar  growing  louder,  the  grand-masters, 
grand-chamberlain,  gentlemen  of  the  chamber  and 
lesser  lights  of  the  church  were  enabled  to  carol  and 
make  merry  with  less  restraint.  The  pungent  smell  of 
roses  permeated  the  hall,  arising  from  a  screen  of 
shrubbery  at  one  end  of  the  room  wherein  sang  a  hun- 
dred silver-toned  birds. 

At  the  king's  table  Caillette  recited  a  merry  rounde- 
lay, and  Triboulet  roared  out  tale  after  tale,  each  more 
full-flavored  than  the  one  that  went  before  it,  flinging 
smart  sayings  at  marriage,  and  drawing  a  ludicrous 
picture  of  the  betrayed  husband.  Villot,  a  lily  in  his 
hand,  which  he  regarded  ever  sentimentally,  caroled 
the  boisterous  espousals  of  a  yokel  and  ;'.  cinder-wench, 
while  Marot  and  a  bishop  contended  in  a  heated  argu- 
ment regarding  the  translation  of  a  certain  passage 
of  Ovid's  "Art  of  Love." 

Singularly  pale,  unusually  tranquil,  the  duke's  fool 
furtively  watched  his  master  and  the  princess.  In 
contrast  to  his  composure,  Jacqueline's  merriment 
seemed  the  more  unrestrained;  she  laughed  like  a 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  89 

witch;  her  hands  flashed  with  pretty  gestures,  and 
she  had  so  tossed  her  head,  her  hair  floated  around  her, 
wild  and  disordered. 

"Why  are  you  so  quiet?"  she  whispered  to  the 
duke's  fool. 

"Is  there  not  enough  merriment,  mistress?"  he  an- 
swered, gravely. 

"There  can  never  be  any  to  spare,"  she  said.  "And 
you  would  do  well  to  remember  your  office." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  absently. 

"That  you  have  many  enemies ;  that  you  can  not 
live  at  court  with  a  jaundiced  countenance.  Heigh- 
ho!  Alackaday!  You  should  hie  yourself  back  to 
the  woods  and  barren  wastes  of  Friedwald,  Master 
Fool." 

Her  sparkling  glance  returned  to  the  exhilarating 
scene.  Well  had  the  assemblage  been  called  a  court 
of  love.  Now  soft  eyes  invited  burning  glances,  and 
graceful  heads  swayed  alluringly  toward  the  hand- 
some cavaliers  who  momentarily  had  found  lodgment 
in  hearts  which,  like  palaces,  had  many  ante-chambers. 
From  hidden  recesses,  strains  of  music  filled  the  room 
with  tinkling  passages  of  sensuous,  but  illusive,  har- 
mony ;  a  dream  of  ardor,  masked  in  the  daintiness  of  a 
minuet. 

Upon  the  back  of  the  princess'  chair  rested  one  of 


po  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

the  duke's  hands ;  with  the  other  he  lifted  his  glass — 
a  frail  thing  in  fingers  better  adapted  for  a  sword-hilt 
or  massive  battle  mace. 

"Drink,  Princess,"  he  said,  bending  over  her,  "to — 
our  meeting!" 

Her  eyelids  fluttered  before  his  look ;  her  breast  rose 
a  little.  The  scar  on  his  brow  held  her  gaze,  as  one 
fascinated,  but  she  drew  away  slightly  and  mechanical- 
ly sought  the  tiny  golden  goblet  at  her  elbow.  Dream- 
ily, dreamily,  sounded  the  rhythmical  music;  heavily, 
so  heavily  hung  the  perfume  in  the  air !  Full  of  mist 
seemed  the  hall ;  the  king,  the  queen,  the  countess, 
all  of  the  party,  unreal,  fanciful.  The  touch  of  the 
goblet  chilled  her  lips  and  she  put  it  down  quickly. 

"Is  not  the  wine  to  your  liking?"  he  asked,  his  hand 
tightening  on  her  chair.  "Perhaps  it  is  too  sour  for 
your  taste?" 

"Nay;  I  thought  it  rather  sweet,"  she  answered. 
"Oh,  I  meant  not  that — " 

"It  is  sweet  wine,  Princess,"  he  said,  setting  down 
an  empty  glass.  "Sweeter  than  our  Austrian  vintage. 
Not  white  and  thin  and  watery,  but  red — red  as  blood 
— red  as  your  heart's  blood — or  mine — " 

Crash!  from  the  hand  of  the  duke's  jester  had 
fallen  a  goblet  to  the  floor.  The  princess  started, 
turned;  for  a  moment  their  glances  bridged  the  dis- 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  91 

tance  from  where  she  sat,  to  the  fools'  end  of  the  table ; 
then  hers  slowly  fell ;  slowly,  and  she  passed  a  hand, 
whereon  shone  the  king's  ring,  across  her  brow; 
looked  up,  as  though  once  more  to  span  infinity  with 
her  gaze,  when  her  eyes  fell  short  and  met  the  duke's. 
Deliberately  he  lifted  his  filled  glass. 

"Red  as  your  heart's  blood — and  mine — my  love!" 
he  repeated;  and  then  stared  sharply  across  the  table 
at  his  jester. 

Triboulet,  swaggering  in  his  chair,  so  high  his  feet 
could  not  touch  the  floor,  surveyed  the  broken  glass, 
the  duke  and  the  duke's  fool.  For  some  time  his 
vigilant  eyes  had  been  covertly  studying  the  uncon- 
scious foreign  jester,  noting  sundry  signs  and  symp- 
toms. Nor  had  the  princess'  look  when  the  goblet 
had  fallen,  been  lost  upon  the  misshapen  buffoon  ;  alert, 
wide-awake,  his  mind,  quick  to  suspect,  reached  a  sud- 
den conclusion ;  a  conclusion  which  by  rapid  process 
of  reasoning  became  a  conviction.  Privileged  to  speak 
where  others  must  need  be  silent,  his  profession  that 
of  prying  subtlety,  which  spared  neither  rank  nor 
power  so  that  it  raised  a  laugh,  he  felt  no  hesitation 
in  publishing  the  information  he  had  gleaned  by  his 
superior  mental  nimbleness. 

"Ho!  ho!"  he  bellowed,  the  better  to  attract  atten- 
tion to  himself.  "The  duke  sent  his  fool  to  amuse  his 


92  UNDERTHEROSE 

betrothed  and  the  fool  hath  lost  his  heart  to  his  mis- 
tress." 

The  king  left  off  his  whispering,  Catharine  turned 
from  the  chancellor,  Diane  ceased  furtively  to  regard 
Caillette,  while  the  Queen  of  Navarre  laughed  nerv- 
ously and  murmured : 

"Princess  and  jester!    It  will  make  another  tale." 

But  Henry  of  Navarre  looked  gravely  down.  He, 
and  Francis'  queen — a  passive  spectator  at  the  feast — 
and  a  bishop,  whose  interest  lay  in  a  truffled  capon, 
alone  followed  not  the  direction  of  the  duke's  eyes. 
The  fair  favorite  of  the  king  clapped  her  hands,  but 
the  monarch  frowned,  not  having  forgotten  that  night 
in  Fools'  hall  when  the  jester  had  appointed  rogues  to 
offices. 

"What  is  this?  A  fool  in  love  with  the  princess?" 
said  the  king,  ominously. 

"Even  so,  your  Majesty,"  cried  Triboulet.  "But  a 
moment  ago  Duke  Robert  did  whisper  to  his  bride-to- 
be,  and  the  fool's  hand  trembled  like  a  leaf  and  dropped 
his  glass.  Tra!  la!  la!  What  a  situation!  Holy 
Saint-Bagpipe !  Here's  a  comedy  in  high  life !" 

"A  comedy !"  repeated  the  duke,  and  half -rose  from 
his  chair,  regarding  his  fool  with  surprise  and  anger. 

Now  Triboulet  roared.    Had  he  not  in  the  past  at- 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  93 

tained  his  high  position  of  favorite  jester  to  the  king 
by  his  very  foolhardihood  ?  And  were  not  trusting 
lovers  and  all  too-confiding  husbands  the  legitimate 
butt  of  all  jesting? 

"Look  at  the  fool,"  he  went  on  exultantly.  "Does 
any  one  doubt  his  guilt?  He  is  silent;  he  can  not 
speak !" 

And,  indeed,  the  foreign  jester  seemed  momentarily 
disconcerted,  although  he  strove  to  appear  indifferent. 

"A  presumptuous  knave!"  muttered  Francis,  dark- 
ly. "He  saved  his  neck  once  only  by  a  trick." 

"Oh,  the  duke  would  not  mind,  now,  if  you  were  to 
hang  him,  Sire,"  answered  Triboulet,  blithely. 

"True !"  smiled  the  king.  "The  question  of  breach 
of  hospitality  might  not  occur.  What  have  you  to 
say,  fool?"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  object  of  the 
buffoon's  insidious  and  malicious  attack. 

"Laugh!"  whispered  Jacqueline,  furtively  pressing 
the  arm  of  the  duke's  fool.  "Laugh,  or — " 

The  touch  and  her  words  appeared  to  arouse  him 
from  his  lethargy  and  the  jester  arose,  but  not  before 
the  princess,  with  flaming  cheeks,  but  proud  bearing, 
had  cast  a  quick  glance  in  his  direction ;  a  glance  half- 
appealing,  half-resentful.  Idly  the  joculatrix  regard- 
ed him,  her  hands  upon  the  table  playing  with  the 


94  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

glasses,    her   lips   faintly   repeating  the   words   of   a 
roundelay : 

"For  love  is  madness ; 

While  madness  rules, 
Fools  in  love 
Remain  but  fools ! 
Sing  hoddy-doddy, 
Noddy! 
Remain  but  fools !" 

With  the  eyes  of  the  company  upon  him,  the  duke's 
fool  impassively  studied  the  carven  figure  on  his  stick. 
If  he  felt  fear  of  the  king's  anger,  the  resentment  of 
his  master,  or  the  malice  of  the  dwarf,  his  countenance 
now  did  not  betray  it.  He  had  seemed  about  to  speak, 
but  did  not. 

"Well,  rascal,  well?"  called  out  the  king.  "Do  you 
think  your  wand  will  save  you,  sirrah?"  he  added 
impatiently. 

"Why  not,  Sire?"  tranquilly  answered  the  jester. 

The  duke's  face  grew  more  and  more  ominous. 
Still  the  fool,  looking  up,  did  not  quail,  but  met  his 
master's  glance  freely,  and  those  who  observed  noted 
it  was  the  duke  who  first  turned  away,  although  his 
jaw  was  set  and  his  great  fist  clenched.  Swiftly  the 
jester's  gaze  again  sought  the  princess,  but  she  had 
plucked  a  spray  of  blossoms  from  the  table  and  was 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  95 

holding  it  to  her  lips,  mindlessly  biting"  the  fragrant 
leaves;  and  those  who  followed  the  fool's  glance  saw 
in  her  but  a  picture  of  languid  unconcern  such  as  be- 
came a  kinswoman  of  the  king. 

Almost  imperceptibly  the  brow  of  the  plaisant  cloud- 
ed, but  recovering  himself,  he  confronted  the  king 
with  an  enigmatic  smile. 

"Why  not  ?"  he  repeated.  "In  the  Court  of  Love  is 
not  the  fool's  wand  greater  than  a  king's  miter  or  the 
pastoral  staff  of  the  Abbe  de  Lys?  Besides,  Sire," 
he  added  quickly,  "as  a  fool  takes  it,  in  the  Court  of 
Love,  not  to  love — is  treason !" 

"Good!"  murmured  the  bishop,  still  eating.  "Not 
to  love  is  treason !" 

"Who  alone  is  the  culprit?  Whose  heart  alone  is 
filled  with  umbrage,  hatred,  pique?" 

"Triboulet!  Triboulet,  the  traitor!"  suddenly  cried 
the  countess,  sprightly  as  a  child. 

"Yes ;  Triboulet,  the  traitor !"  exclaimed  the  fool, 
pointing  the  wand  of  folly  at  the  hunchback. 

Even  Francis'  offended  face  relaxed.  "Positively, 
I  shall  never  hang  this  fellow,"  he  said  grimly  to  Mar- 
guerite. 

"Before  this  tribunal  of  ladies  whose  beauty  and 
learning  he  has  outraged  by  his  disaffection  and  spleen, 
I  summon  him  for  trial,"  continued  the  duke's  jester, 


96  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Triboulet,  arise!  Illustrious  ladies  of  the  Court  of 
Love,  the  offender  is  in  your  hands." 

"A  little  monster!"  spoke  up  Diane  with  a  gesture 
of  aversion,  real  or  affected. 

"He  is  certainly  somewhat  reprehensible,"  added  the 
Queen  of  Navarre,  whose  tender  heart  ever  inclined 
to  the  weaker  side. 

"An  unconscionable  rogue,"  murmured  the  bishop, 
complacently  clasping  his  fat  fingers  before  him. 

"So  he  is  already  tried  by  the  Church  and  the  tri- 
bunal," went  on  the  plaisant  of  the  duke.  "The 
Church  hath  excommunicated  him  and  the  Court  of 
Love—" 

"Will  banish  him!"  exclaimed  the  countess  mirth- 
fully, regarding  the  captious  monarch  with  mock  de- 
fiance. 

"Yes,  banish  him ;  turn  him  out,"  echoed  Catharine, 
carelessly. 

"But,  your  Majesty!"  remonstrated  the  alarmed 
Triboulet,  turning  to  the  monarch  whose  favor  he  had 
that  day  enjoyed. 

"Appeal  not  to  me!"  returned  Francis,  sternly. 
"Here  Venus  rules !"  And  he  gallantly  inclined  to  the 
countess. 

"Venus  at  whom  he  scoffs!"  broke  in  Jacqueline, 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  97 

shrilly,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  with  her  hands  on 
her  hips. 

"You  witch  ! — you  sorceress ! — it  was  you  who" — 
he  hissed  with  venomous  glance. 

"Hear  him !"  exclaimed  the  girl,  lightly.  "He  calls 
me  witch — sorceress — because,  forsooth,  I  am  a 
woman !" 

"A  woman — a  devil" — muttered  Triboulet  between 
his  closed  teeth. 

"And  now,"  she  cried,  rising,  impetuously,  "he  says 
that  women  are  devils !  What  shall  we  do  with  him  ?" 

"Pelt  him  out!"  answered  the  countess.  "Pelt  him 
out!" 

With  peals  of  merriment  and  triumphant  shouts,  the 
court,  of  one  accord,  directed  a  fusillade  of  fruits, 
nuts  and  other  viands  at  the  head  and  person  of  the 
raging  and  hapless  buffoon,  the  countess  herself,  apple 
in  hand — Eve  bent  upon  vengeance — leading  in  the 
assault.  The  other  tables  responded  with  a  cross- 
fire, and  heavier  articles  succeeded  lighter,  until  after 
having  endured  the  continuous  attack  for  a  few  mo- 
ments as  best  he  might,  the  unlucky  dwarf  raised  his 
arms  above  his  head  and  fairly  fled  from  the  hall, 
leaving  behind  in  his  haste  a  bagpipe  and  his  wooden 
sword. 


98  UNDERTHEROSE 

"So  may  all  traitors  be  punished!"  said  the  bishop 
unctuously,  as  he  reached  for  a  dish  of  confections 
that  had  escaped  the  fair  hands  in  search  of  ammuni- 
tion. 

"Well,"  laughed  the  Countess  d'Etampes,  "if  we 
have  the  support  of  the  Church — " 

"I  will  confess  you,  myself,  Madam,"  gallantly  re- 
torted the  bishop. 

"And  all  the  Court  of  Love?"  asked  Marguerite. 

"Ah,  your  Highness — all? — I  am  old — in  need  of 
rest — but  with  an  assistant  or  two — " 

"Assistant  or  two!"  interrupted  Catharine,  imperi- 
ously. "Would  the  task  then  be  so  great?" 

"Nay" — with  gentle  expostulation — "but  you — 
members  of  the  court — are  many ;  not  your  sins." 

"I  suppose,"  whispered  Jacqueline  to  the  duke's 
fool,  when  the  attention  of  the  company  was  thus 
withdrawn  from  the  jester's  end  of  the  table,  "you 
think  yourself  in  fine  favor  now?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  absently ;  "thanks  to  your  sug- 
gestion." 

"My  suggestion !"  she  repeated,  scornfully.  "I  gave 
you  none." 

"Well,  then,  your  crossing  Triboulet." 

"Oh,  that,"  she  replied,  picking  at  a  bunch  of  grapes, 
"was  to  defend  my  sex,  not  you." 


THE    COURT    OF    LOVE  99 

"But  your  warning  for  me  to  laugh  ?" 

"Why,"  she  returned,  demurely,  "  'twas  to  see  you 
go  more  gallantly  to  your  execution.  And" — eating 
a  grape — "that  is  reasonably  certain  to  be  your  fate. 
You've  only  made  a  few  more  enemies  to-night — the 
duke— the— " 

"Name  them  not,  fair  Jacqueline,"  he  retorted,  in- 
different. 

"True;  you'll  soon  learn  for  yourself,"  she  an- 
swered sharply.  "I  think  I  should  prefer  to  be  in 
Triboulet's  place  to  yours  at  present." 

"Why,"  he  said,  with  a  strange  laugh,  "there's  a 
day  for  the  duke  and  a  day  for  the  fool." 

Deliberately  she  turned  from  him  and  sang  very 
softly : 

"For  love  is  madness ; 

(A  dunce  on  a  stool!) 
A  king  in  love, 
A  king  and  a  fool ! 
Sing  hoddy-doddy, 
Noddy ! 
A  king  and  a  fool !" 

The  monarch  bent  over  the  countess ;  Diane  and  the 
dauphin  exchanged  messages  with  their  eyes ;  Catha- 
rine smiled  on  Villot ;  the  princess  listened  to  her  be- 
trothed; and  the  jestress  alone  of  all  the  ladies  leaned 


ioo  UNDERTHEROSE 

back  and  sang,  heart-free.  But  suddenly  she  again 
broke  off  and  looked  curiously  at  the  duke's  plaisant. 

"Why  did  you  not  answer  them  with  what  was  first 
in  your  mind?"  she  asked. 

"What  was  that  ?"  he  said,  starting. 

"How  can  I  tell  ?"  she  returned,  studying  him. 

"You  can  tell  a  great  deal,"  he  replied. 

"Sing  hoddy-doddy, 
Noddy ! 
The  duke  and  the  fool" — 

she  hummed,  deigning  no  further  words. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A   BRIEF  TRUCE 

"Turn  out  these  torch-bearers,  human  candlesticks, 
and  valets  de  chambre,  and  I'll  get  me  to  bed,"  com- 
manded the  duke,  standing  in  the  center  of  his  room, 
and  the  trooper  with  the  fierce  red  mustaches  waved 
a  swarm  of  pages,  cup-bearers  and  attendants  from  the 
door  and  closed  it.  "How  are  the  men  quartered, 
Johann?" 

"With  all  the  creature  comforts,  my  Lord,"  an- 
swered the  soldier.  "The  king  hath  dressed  them  like 
popinjays;  they  drink  overmuch,  dice,  and  run  after 
the  maids,  but  otherwise  are  well-behaved." 

"Drink ;  dice ;  run  after  the  maids !"  said  the  noble, 
gazing  thoughtfully  downward.  "Hold  them  in  check, 
Johann,  as  though  we  were  in  a  campaign." 

"Yes,  my  Lord,"  returned  the  man,  staring  impas- 
sively before  him. 

"And  especially  keep  them  from  the  kitchen 
wenches.  There's  more  danger  in  these  femmes  de 

101 


102  UNDERTHEROSE 

chambre,  laundresses  and  scullery  Cinderellas  than  in 
a  column  of  glittering  steel.  Remember,  no  Court  of 
Love  in  the  scullery.  Now  go!  Yet  stay,  Johann!" 
he  added,  suddenly.  "This  fool  of  ours  is  a  bold  fel- 
low. Look  to  him  well !" 

Saluting  respectfully,  an  expression  of  quick  in- 
telligence on  his  florid  features,  the  trooper  backed  out 
of  the  room.  With  his  hands  behind  him,  his  shoul- 
ders bent  forward,  the  duke  long  pondered,  his  look, 
keen  and  discerning ;  his  perspicacity  clear,  in  spite  of 
Francis'  wine,  or  the  intoxication  of  the  princess' 
eyes.  Although  the  noble's  glance  seemed  bent  on 
vacancy,  it  was  himself  as  well  as  others  he  was  study- 
ing; weighing  the  memorable  events  of  the  evening; 
recalling  to  mind  every  word  with  the  princess;  re- 
viewing her  features,  the  softening  of  her  cold  disdain ; 
now,  mentally  distrustful,  because  she  was  a  woman; 
again,  confident  he  already  dominated  the  citadel  of 
her  heart. 

But  a  new  element  had  entered  into  the  field;  an 
element  unforeseen — the  jester! — and,  although  not 
attaching  great  importance  to  this  possible  source  of 
hazard  in  his  plans  for  the  future,  the  duke  was  too 
good  a  soldier  to  disregard  any  risk,  however  slight. 
In  love  and  battle,  every  peril  should  be  avoided; 
every  vulnerable  point  made  impregnable.  Besides, 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  103 

the  fool  was  audacious,  foolhardy ;  his  language  of 
covert  mockery  and  quick  wit  proved  him  an  intelli- 
gent antagonist,  who  might  become  a  desperate  one. 

"A  woman  and  a  fool,"  muttered  the  duke,  striding 
with  quick  step  across  his  chamber,  "are  two  uncer- 
tain quantities.  The  one  should  be  subjected;  the 
other  removed !" 

Museful,  he  stood  before  the  niche,  wherein  shone  a 
cross  of  silver,  set  with  amethysts  and  turquoise,  his 
rugged  face  lighted  by  the  uncertain  flickering  of  the 
candles. 

"Removed!"  he  repeated,  contemplatively.  "And 
she—" 

The  clear  tinkling  of  a  bell  broke  in  upon  his  cogi- 
tation ;  a  faint,  musical  sound  that  seemed  at  his  very 
elbow.  He  wheeled  about  abruptly,  saw  nothing  save 
the  mysterious  shadows  of  the  curtains,  the  flickering 
lamps,  the  dark  outline  of  the  canopy  of  the  great  bed. 
Instinctively  he  knew  he  was  not  alone,  and  yet  his 
gaze,  rapidly  sweeping  the  apartment,  failed  to  per- 
ceive an  intruder. 

Again  the  tinkling,  a  low  laugh,  and,  turning  sharp- 
ly toward  an  alcove  from  whence  the  sounds  came, 
the  duke,  through  the  half-light  and  trailing,  som- 
brous  shadows  of  its  entrance,  perceived  a  figure  in  a 
chair.  From  a  candle  set  in  a  spiked,  enameled  stick, 


104  UNDERTHEROSE 

a  yellow  glimmering,  that  came  and  went  with  the 
sputtering  flame,  rested  upon  an  ironical  face,  a  grace- 
ful figure  in  motley  and  a  wand  with  the  jester's  head 
and  the  bell.  Without  rising,  the  plaisant  quizzically 
regarded  the  surprised  nobleman,  who  in  spite  of  his 
self-control  had  stepped  back  involuntarily  at  the  sud- 
denness of  the  encounter. 

"Good  evening,  my  Lord,"  said  the  fool.  "I  am  like 
the  genii  of  the  tale.  You  think  of  me,  and  I  appear." 

Regaining  his  composure  at  once,  the  king's  guest 
bent  his  heavy  brows  over  his  deep-set  eyes,  and  de- 
liberately surveyed  the  fool. 

"And  now,"  went  on  the  jester,  gaily,  "it  is  in  your 
mind  I  am  like  as  suddenly  to — disappear !  Am  I  at 
fault?" 

"On  the  contrary,  you  are  unusually  clear-witted," 
was  the  answer. 

"Oh,  my  Lord,  you  over-estimate  my  poor  capac- 
ity!" returned  the  nobleman's  unasked  caller  with  a 
deprecatory  gesture. 

The  hands  of  the  other  worked  impatiently;  his 
herculean  figure  blocked  the  doorway.  "You  are  a 
merry  fellow!"  he  observed.  "It  is  to  be  regretted, 
but — confess  you  have  brought  it  upon  yourself?" 

"What?    My  fate?    Oh,  yes!"    And  he  indiffer- 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  105 

ently  regarded  the  wand  and  the  wooden  figure  upon 
it,  without  moving  from  the  chair. 

"You  have  no  fear?"  questioned  the  duke,  quietly. 

"Fear?    Why  should  I?" 

Yawning,  the  fool  stretched  his  arms,  looking  not  at 
the  nobleman,  but  beyond  him,  and,  instinctively,  the 
princess'  betrothed  peered  over  his  shoulder  in  the 
semi-darkness  behind,  while  his  hand  quickly  sought 
his  sword. 

"Fie,  most  noble  Duke !"  exclaimed  the  jester.  "We 
have  no  eavesdroppers  or  interlopers,  believe  me ! 
We  are  entirely  alone,  you  and  I — master  and  fool. 
There;  come  no  nearer,  I  beg!"  As  the  nobleman 
menacingly  moved  toward  him. 

"Have  you  any  argument  to  advance,  Sir  Fool,  why 
I  should  not?"  said  the  other,  grimly,  a  gleam  of 
amusement  depicted  on  his  broad  face  as  he  paused 
the  while. 

"An  argument,  sharp  as  a  needle,  somewhat  longer !" 
replied  the  jester,  touching  his  breast  and  drawing 
from  between  the  folds  of  his  doublet  a  shining  hilt. 

Harsh  and  loud  laughed  the  king's  guest.  "You 
fool,"  he  said,  "you  had  your  opportunity  below  there 
in  the  hall  and  missed  it.  You  hesitated,  went  blindly 
another  course,  and  now" — with  ominous  meaning — 
"you  are  here  I" 


io6  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

Upon  the  stick  a  candle  dripped,  sputtered  and  went 
out;  the  jester  bent  forward  and  with  the  copper 
snuffer  on  the  table  near  by  deftly  trimmed  the  re- 
maining light. 

"Only  fools  fight  in  darkness,"  he  remarked,  quietly, 
"and  here  is  but  one  of  them." 

"You  pit  yourself  and  that — plaything! — against 
me  ?"  asked  the  burly  soldier,  derisively. 

"Have  you  hunted  the  wild  boar,  my  Lord  ?"  lightly 
answered  the  other.  "How  mighty  it  is  !  How  savage ! 
What  tusks !  You  know  the  pastime  ?  A  quick  step, 
a  sure  arm,  an  eye  like  lightning — presto !  your  boar 
lies  on  his  back,  with  his  feet  in  the  air!  You,  my 
Lord,  are  the  boar ;  big,  clumsy,  brutal !  Shall  we  be- 
gin the  sport?  I  promise  to  prick  you  with  every 
rush." 

The  prospective  bridegroom  paused  thoughtfully. 

"There  is  some  justice  in  what  you  say,"  he  re- 
turned, his  manner  that  of  a  man  who  has  carefully 
weighed  and  considered  a  matter.  "I  confess  to  par- 
tiality for  the  thick  of  the  fray,  the  brunt  of  the  fight, 
where  men  press  all  around  you." 

"Assuredly,  my  Lord ;  for  then  the  boar  is  in  his  ele- 
ment ;  no  matter  how  he  rushes,  his  tusks  strike  yield- 
ing flesh." 

"Why  should  we  fight  at  all— at  present?"  cautious- 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  107 

ly  ventured  the  noble,  with  further  hesitation.  "Not 
that  I  doubt  I  could  easily  crush  you" — extending  his 
muscular  arms — "but  you  might  prick  me,  and,  just 
now,  discretion  may  be  the  better  part  of  valor.  I — a 
duke,  engaged  to  wed  a  princess,  have  much  to  lose; 
you,  nothing!  A  fool's  stroke  might  kill  a  king." 

"Or  a  knave,  my  Lord !"  added  the  plaisant. 

"Or  a  knave,  sirrah !"  thundered  the  duke,  the  veins 
starting  out  on  his  forehead. 

The  jester  half  drew  his  dagger;  his  quiet  confi- 
dence and  glittering  eye  impressed  even  his  antagonist, 
inured  to  scenes  of  violence  and  strife. 

"Is  it  a  truce,  most  noble  Lord?"  said  the  fool, 
significantly.  "A  truce  wherein  we  may  call  black, 
black;  and  white,  white!  A  truce  which  may  be 
broken  by  either  of  us,  with  due  warning  to  the  other?" 

Knitting  his  brow,  the  noble  stood  motionless,  deep- 
ly pondering,  his  headlong  passion  evidently  at  com- 
bat with  his  judgment;  then  his  face  cleared,  a  hard, 
brusque  laugh  burst  from  his  lips  and  he  brought  his 
fist  violently  down  on  the  massive  oak  table  near  the 
door. 

"So  be  it !"  he  assented,  with  a  more  open  look. 

"A  truce — without  any  rushes  from  the  boar?" 

"Fool !  Does  not  my  word  suffice  ?"  contemptuous- 
ly retorted  the  duke. 


io8  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Yes;  for  although  you  are — what  you  are — you 
have  been  a  soldier,  and  would  not  break  a  truce." 

"Such  commendation  from — my  jester  is,  indeed, 
flattering!"  satirically  remarked  the  king's  guest,  seat- 
ing himself  in  a  great  chair  which  brought  him  face 
to  face  with  the  fool  and  yet  commanded  the  door,  the 
intruder's  only  means  of  retreat. 

"Pardon  me,  the  duke's  jester,  you  mean?" 

"Yes;  mine!" 

"A  distinction  with  a  difference !"  retorted  the  fool. 
"It  is  quite  true  I  am  the  duke's  jester;  it  is  equally 
untrue  I  am  yours.  Therefore,  we  reach  the  conclu- 
sion that  you  and  the  duke  are  two  different  persons. 
Plainly,  not  being  the  duke,  you  are  an  impostor. 
Have  you  any  fault  to  find  with  my  reasoning?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  answered  the  other,  with  no  sign 
of  anger  or  surprise,  "your  reasoning  is  all  that  could 
be  desired.  Why  should  I  deny  what  you  already 
know?  I  was  aware,  of  course,  that  you  knew, 
when  I  first  learned  his  jester  was  in  the  castle. 
Frankly,  I  am  not  the  duke — to  you !" 

"But  with  Francis  and  the  court?"  suggested  the 
fool,  uplifting  his  brows. 

"I  am  the  duke — and  such  remain !  You  under- 
stand?" 

"Perfectly,  my  Lord,"  replied  the  jester,  shrugging 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  109 

his  shoulders.  "But  since  I  am  not  the  king,  nor  one 
of  the  courtiers,  whom,  for  the  time  being-,  have  I  the 
honor  of  addressing?  But,  perhaps,  I  am  over-in- 
quisitive." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  other,  with  mocking  ceremony. 
"You  are  a  whimsical  fellow ;  besides,  I  am  taken  with 
a  man  who  stands  near  death  without  flinching.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  our  truce  is  somewhat  to  my  liking. 
There  are  few  men  who  would  have  dared  what  you 
have  to-night.  And  although  you're  only  a  fool — will 
you  drink  with  me  from  this  bottle  on  the  table  here? 
I'm  tired  of  ceremonies  of  rank  and  would  clink  a 
glass  in  private  with  a  merry  fellow.  What  say  you  ?" 

And  leaning  over,  he  filled  two  large  goblets  with 
the  rich  beverage  from  a  great  flask  placed  on  the  stand 
for  his  convenience.  His  face  lighted  with  gross  con- 
viviality, but  behind  his  jovial,  free  manner,  that 
of  a  trooper  in  his  cups,  gleamed  a  furtive,  guarded 
look,  as  though  he  were  studying  and  testing  his  man. 

"I'm  for  a  free  life ;  some  fighting ;  but  snug  walls 
around  for  companionship,"  he  continued.  "Look  at 
my  soldiers  now;  roistering,  love-making!  Charles? 
Francis?  Not  one  of  the  troop  would  leave  me  for 
emperor  or  king!  Not  one  but  would  follow  me — 
where  ambition  leads!"  Holding  up  the  glass,  he 
looked  into  the  depths  of  the  thick  burgundy.  "Why, 


no  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

a  likely  fellow  like  you  should  carry  a  gleaming  blade, 
not  a  wooden  sword.  I  know  your  duke — a  man  of 
lineage — a  string  of  titles  long  as  my  arm — an  under- 
ling of  the  emperor,  while  I" — closing  his  great  jaw 
firmly — "owe  allegiance  to  no  man,  or  monarch,  which 
is  the  same  thing.  Drink,  lad;  I'm  pleased  I  did  not 
kill  you." 

"And  I,"  laughed  the  plaisant,  "congratulate  myself 
you  are  still  alive — for  the  wine  is  excellent!" 

"Still  alive!"  exclaimed  the  king's  guest,  boister- 
ously, although  a  dark  shadow  crossed  his  glance. 
"I'm  scarred  from  head  to  foot,  and  my  hide  is  as 
tough  as — " 

"A  boar's  ?"  tapping  his  chin  with  the  fool's  head  on 
his  wand. 

"Ah,  you  will  have  your  jest,"  retorted  the  host  of 
the  occasion,  good-naturedly.  "It's  bred  in  the  bone. 
A  quality  for  a  soldier.  Next  to  courage  is  that  fine 
sense  of  humor  which  makes  a  man  a  bon  camarade. 
Put  down  your  graven  image,  lad ;  you  were  made  to 
carry  arms,  not  baubles.  Put  it  down,  I  say,  and 
touch  glasses  with  Louis,  of  Pfalz-Urfeld." 

"The  bastard  of  Hochfels!"  exclaimed  the  jester, 
fixedly  regarding  the  man  whose  name  was  known 
throughout  Europe  for  his  reckless  bravery,  his  per- 
sonal resources  and  his  indomitable  pride  or  love  of 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  in 

freedom  and  independence,  which  held  him  aloof  from 
emperor  or  monarch,  and  made  him  peer  and  leader 
among  the  many  intractable  spirits  of  the  Austrian 
country  who  had  not  yet  bowed  their  necks  to  con- 
quest; a  soldier  of  many  battles,  whose  thick-walled 
fortress,  perched  picturesquely  in  mid-air  on  a  steep 
mountain  top,  established  his  security  on  all  sides. 

"The  same,  my  friend  of  the  motley,"  continued  the 
other,  not  without  complacency,  observing  the  effect 
of  his  announcement  on  the  jester. 

"He  who  calls  himself  the  free  baron  of  Hochfels  ?" 
observed  the  fool,  setting  down  the  glass  from  which 
he  had  moderately  partaken. 

"Aye ;  a  man  of  royal  and  peasant  blood,"  harshly 
answered  the  free-booter.  "Ambition,  arrogance,  are 
the  kingly  inheritance ;  strength,  a  constitution  of  iron, 
the  low-born  legacy.  What  think  you  of  such  an  en- 
dowment ?" 

"You  are  far  from  your  castle,  my  Lord  of  Hoch- 
fels," commented  the  jester,  absently,  unmindful  of  a 
question  he  felt  not  called  upon  to  answer. 

"And  yet  as  safe  as  in  my  own  mountain  nest,"  re- 
torted the  free  baron,  or  free-booter,  indifferently. 
"Who  would  betray  me?  There  is  not  a  trooper  of 
mine  but  would  die  for  his  master.  You  would  not 
denounce  me,  because — but  why  enumerate  the  rea- 


H2  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

sons  ?  I  hold  you  in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  and,  when 
I  close  my  fingers,  there's  the  end  of  you." 

"But  where — allow  me ;  the  wine  has  a  rare  flavor," 
and  he  reached  for  the  flask. 

"Drink  freely,"  returned  the  pretender;  "it  is  the 
king's  own,  and  you  are  my  guest.  You  were  about 
to  ask—" 

"Whence  came  the  idea  for  this  mad  adventure?" 
said  the  jester,  his  eyes  seemingly  bent  in  admiration 
on  the  goblet  he  held;  a  half  globe  of  crystal  sus- 
tained by  a  golden  Bacchus. 

"Idea!"  repeated  the  self-called  baron,  with  a  ges- 
ture of  satisfaction.  "It  was  more  than  an  idea.  It 
was  an  inspiration,  born  of  that  chance  which  points 
the  way  to  greatness.  The  feat  accomplished,  all 
Europe  will  wonder  at  the  wanton  exploit.  At  first 
Francis  will  rage;  then  seeing  me  impregnably  in- 
trenched, will  make  the  best  of  the  marriage,  especially 
as  the  groom  is  of  royal  blood.  Next,  an  alliance  with 
the  French  king  against  the  emperor.  Why  not ;  was 
not  Francis  once  ready  to  treat  even  with  Solyman  to 
defeat  Charles,  an  overture  which  shocked  Christen- 
dom? And  while  Charles'  energies  are  bent  to  the 
task  of  protecting  his  country  from  the  Turks,  a  new 
leader  appears;  a  devil-may-care  fellow — and  then — 
and  then—" 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  113 

He  broke  off  abruptly ;  stared  before  him,  as  though 
the  fumes  of  wine  were  at  last  beginning  to  rise  to 
his  head ;  toyed  vrith  his  glass  and  drank  it  quickly  at 
a  draft.  "What  an  alluring  will-o'-the-wisp  is — 
to-morrow!"  he  muttered. 

"An  illusive  hope  that  reconciles  us  with  to-day," 
answered  the  phisant. 

"Illusive!"  cried  the  other.  "Only  for  poets, 
dreamers,  foolr,!" 

"And  you,  Sir  Baron,  are  neither  one  nor  the  other," 
remarked  the  jester.  "No  philosopher,  but  a  plain 
soldier,  who  chops  heads — not  logic.  But  the  inspira- 
tion that  caused  you  to  embark  upon  this  hot-brained, 
pretty  enterprise  ?" 

"Upon  a  spur  of  rock  that  overlooks  the  road 
through  the  mountain  is  set  the  Vulture's  Nest,  Sir 
Fool,"  begm  the  adventurer  in  a  voice  at  once  con- 
fident and  arrogant.  "At  least,  so  the  time-honored 
fortress  of  Hochfels  is  disparagingly  designated  by  the 
people.  As  the  road  is  the  only  pass  through  the 
mountains,  naturally  we  come  more  or  less  in  con- 
tact witto  the  people  who  go  by  our  doors.  Being 
thus  forced,  through  the  situation  of  our  fortress,  into 
the  proximity  of  the  traveling  public,  we  have,  from 
time  to  time,  made  such  sorties  as  are  practised  by  a 
bele.ty  juered  garrison,  and  have,  in  consequence,  taken 


114  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

prisoners  many  traffickers  and  traders,  whose  goods 
and  chattels  were  worthy  of  our  attention  as  spoils  of 
war.  Generally,  we  have  confined  our  operations  to 
migratory  merchants,  who  carry  more  of  value  and 
cause  less  trouble  than  the  emperor's  soldiers  or  the 
king's  troopers,  but  occasionally  we  brush  against  one 
of  the  latter  bands  so  that  we  may  keep  in  practice  in 
laying  our  blades  to  the  grindstone,  and  also  to  show 
we  are  soldiers,  not  robbers." 

"Which  remains  to  be  proved,"  murmured  the  at- 
tentive jester.  "Your  pardon,  noble  Lord" — as  the 
other  half-started  from  his  chair — "let  me  fill  your 
glass.  'Tis  a  pity  to  neglect  such  royal  wine.  Pro- 
ceed with  your  story.  Come  we  presently  to  the  in- 
spiration ?" 

"At  once,"  answered  the  apparently  appeased  mas- 
ter of  the  fortress,  wiping  his  lips.  "One  day  our 
western  outpost  brought  in  a  messenger,  and,  when 
we  had  stripped  the  knave,  upon  him  we  found  a 
miniature  and  a  letter  from  the  princess  to  the  duke. 
The  latter  was  prettily  writ,  with  here  and  there  a 
rhyme,  and  moved  me  mightily.  The  eagle  hath  its 
mate,  I  thought,  but  the  vulture  of  Hochfels  is  single, 
and  this  reflection,  with  the  sight  of  the  picture  and 
that  right,  fair  script,  saddened  me. 

"And  then,  on  a  sudden,  came  the  inspiration.    Why 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  1115 

not  play  a  hand  in  this  international  marriage  Charles 
and  Francis  were  bringing  about?  I  commanded  the 
only  road  across  the  mountain;  therefore,  did  com- 
mand the  situation.  The  emperor  and  the  king 
should  be  but  the  wooden  figures,  and  I  would  pull 
the  strings  to  make  them  dance.  The  duke,  your 
master,  why  should  he  be  more  than  a  name?  The 
princess'  letter  told  me  she  had  never  seen  her  be- 
trothed. What  easier  than  to  redouble  the  sentries  in 
the  valley,  make  prisoners  of  the  messengers,  clap 
them  in  the  fortress  dungeons,  read  the  missives,  and 
then  despatch  them  to  their  respective  destinations  by 
men  of  my  own  ?" 

"Then  that  was  the  reason  why  on  my  way  through 
the  mountains  your  knaves  attacked  me?"  said  the 
listener  quickly. 

"Exactly ;  to  search  you.  How  you  slipped  through 
their  hands  I  know  not."  And  he  glanced  at  the  other 
curiously. 

•     "They  were  but  poor  rogues,"  answered  the  jester 
quickly. 

"Certainly  are  you  not  one!"  exclaimed  the  free 
baron,  with  a  glance  of  approval  at  the  slender  figure 
of  his  antagonist.  "Two  of  them  paid  for  their  care- 
lessness. The  others  were  so  shamed,  they  told  me 
some  great  knight  had  attacked  them.  A  fool  in  mot- 


n6  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

ley !"  he  laughed.  "No  wonder  the  rogues  hung  their 
heads !  But  in  deceiving  me,"  he  added  thoughtfully, 
"they  permitted  their  master  to  run  into  an  unknown 
peril — his  ignorance  that  a  fool  of  the  duke,  or  a  fool 
wearing  the  emblem  of  the  emperor,  had  gone  to 
Francis'  court." 

"You  were  saying,  Sir  Free  Baron,  you  intended  to 
read  the  messages  between  the  princess  and  the  duke, 
and  afterward  to  despatch  them  by  messengers  of  your 
own?"  interrupted  the  plaisant. 

"Such  were  my  plans.  Moreover,  I  possessed  a 
clerk — a  knave  who  had  killed  an  abbot  and  fled  from 
the  monastery — a  man  of  poetry,  wit  and  sentiment. 
Whenever  the  letters  lacked  for  ardor,  and  the  lovers 
had  grown  too  timid,  him  I  set  to  forge  a  postscript, 
or  indite  new  missives,  which  the  rogue  did  most  pret- 
tily, having  studied  love-making  under  the  monks. 
And  thus,  Sir  Fool,  I  courted  and  won  the  princess — 
by  proxy !" 

"Of  a  certainty,  your  wooing  was  at  least  novel,  Sir 
Knight  of  the  Vulture's  Nest,"  dryly  observed  the 
jester.  "Although,  had  my  master  known  the  decep- 
tion, you  would,  perhaps,  have  paid  dearly  for  it." 

"Your  master,  forsooth!"  laughed  the  outlaw  lord. 
"A  puny  scion  of  a  worn-out  ancestry !  Such  a  woman 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  117 

as  the  princess  wants  a  man  of  brawn  and  muscle ;  no 
weakling  of  the  nursery." 

"Well,"  said  the  fool,  slowly,  "you  became  inter- 
mediary between  the  princess  and  the  duke,  and  the 
king  and  the  emperor.  But  to  come  into  the  heart 
of  France ;  to  the  king's  very  palace — did  you  not  fear 
detection  ?" 

"How?"  retorted  the  other,  raising  his  head  and 
resting  his  eyes,  bloodshot  and  heavy,  on  the  fool's  im- 
passive features.  "The  road  between  the  two  mon- 
archs  is  mine;  no  message  can  now  pass.  The  em- 
peror and  the  duke  may  wonder,  but  the  way  here  is 
long,  and" — with  a  smile — "I  have  ample  time  for  the 
enterprise  ere  the  alarm  can  be  given." 

"And  you  paved  the  way  for  your  coming  by  alter- 
ing the  letters  of  the  duke,  or  forging  new  ones?" 
suggested  the  listener. 

"How  else  ?  A  word  added  here  and  there ;  a  post- 
script, or  even  a  page !  As  for  their  highnesses'  seals, 
any  fool  can  break  and  mend  a  seal.  In  a  week  the 
duke  will  wonder  at  the  princess'  silence ;  in  a  fort- 
night he  will  become  uneasy ;  in  a  month  he  will  learn 
the  cage  has  been  left  open  and  the  bird  hath  flown. 
Then,  too,  shall  the  gates  of  the  dungeon  be  set  ajar, 
and  the  true,  but  tardy,  messengers  permitted  to  go 


n8  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

their  respective  ways.  Is  it  not  a  nice  adventure? 
Am  I  not  a  fitter  leader  than  your  duke  ?" 

"Undoubtedly,"  returned  the  jester.  "He  sits  at 
home,  while  you  are  here  in  his  stead.  But  what  will 
the  princess  say  when  she  learns?" 

"Nothing.     She  loves  me  already." 

The  fool  turned  pale ;  the  hand  that  held  his  glass, 
however,  was  firm,  and  he  set  the  goblet  down  without 
a  tremor. 

"She  may  weep  a  little,  but  it  will  pass  like  a  sum- 
mer shower.  Women  are  weak;  women  are  yielding. 
Have  I  not  reason  to  know?"  he  burst  out.  "I,  a — " 

Brusquely  he  arose  from  his  chair,  leaving  the  sen- 
tence uncompleted.  Sternly  he  surveyed  the  jester. 

"Why  not  take  service  with  me?"  he  continued,  ab- 
ruptly. "Austria  is  ripe  to  revolt  against  the  tyranny 
of  the  emperor.  With  the  discontent  in  the  Nether- 
lands, the  dissensions  in  Spain,  Europe  is  like  a  field, 
cut  up,  awaiting  new-comers." 

He  paused  to  allow  the  force  of  his  words  to  appeal 
to  the  other's  imagination.  "What  say  you  ?"  he  con- 
tinued. "Will  you  serve  me?" 

"The  matter's  worth  thinking  over,"  answered  the 
fool,  evasively. 

"Well,  take  your  time,"  said  the  king's  guest,  re- 
garding him  more  sharply.  "And  now,  as  the  candles 


A    BRIEF    TRUCE  119 

are  low  and  the  flask  is  empty,  you  had  better  take 
your  leave." 

At  this  intimation  that  the  other  considered  the  in- 
terview ended,  the  fool  started  to  his  feet  and  de- 
liberately made  his  way  to  the  door  opening  into  the 
corridor. 

"Good-night!"  he  said,  and  was  about  to  depart 
when  the  free  baron  held  him  with  a  word. 

"Hold!  Why  have  you  not  attempted  to  unmask 
me — before  ?" 

Steadily  the  two  looked  at  each  other ;  the  eyes  of 
the  elder  man,  cruel,  deep,  all-observing;  those  of  the 
younger,  steady,  fearless,  undismayed.  Few  of  his 
troopers  could  withstand  the  sinister  penetration  of 
Louis  of  Hochfels'  gaze,  but  on  the  jester  it  seemed 
to  have  no  more  effect  than  the  casual  glance  of  one  of 
Francis'  courtiers. 

"You  knew — and  yet  you  made  no  sign  ?"  continued 
the  master  of  the  fortress. 

"Because  I  like  a  strong  play  and  did  not  wish  to 
spoil  it — too  soon !" 

The  questioner's  brow  fell;  the  lids  half-veiled  the 
dark,  savage  eyes,  but  the  mouth  relaxed.  "Ah,  you 
always  have  your  answer,"  he  returned  with  apparent 
cordiality.  "Good-night — and,  by  the  by,  our  truce 
is  at  an  end." 


120  UNDERTHEROSE 

"The  truce — and  the  wine,"  said  the  jester,  as  with 
a  ceremonious  bow,  he  vanished  amid  the  shadows  in 
the  hall. 

Slowly  the  free  baron  closed  the  door  and  locked  it  • 
looked  at  the  cross  and  at  the  bed,  but  made  no  mo- 
tion toward  either. 

"He  has  already  rejected  my  proposal,"  thought  the 
self-styled  duke.  "Does  he  seek  for  higher  rewards 
by  betraying  me?  Or  is  it,  then,  Triboulet  told  the 
truth?  Is  he  an  aspiring  lover  of  the  princess?  Or 
is  he  only  faithful  to  his  master?  Why  have  I  failed 
to  read  him?  As  though  a  film  lay  across  his  eyes, 
that  index  to  a  man's  soul !" 

Motionless  the  free  baron  stood,  long  pondering 
deeply,  until  upon  the  mantel  the  richly-chased  clock 
began  to  strike  musically,  yet  admonishingly.  Where- 
upon he  glanced  at  the  cross;  hesitated;  then,  noting 
the  lateness  of  the  hour,  and  with,  perhaps,  a  mental 
reservation  to  retrieve  his  negligence  on  the  morrow, 
he  turned  from  the  silver,  be  jeweled  symbol  and  im- 
mediately sought  the  sensuous  bodily  enjoyment  of  a 
couch  fit  for  a  king  or  the  pope  himself. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  THE  FOOL 

Another  festal  day  had  come  and  gone.  The  crim- 
son shafts  of  the  dying  sun  had  succumbed  to  the 
lengthening  shadows  of  dusk,  and  the  pigeons  were 
wending  their  way  homeward  to  the  castle  parapets 
and  battlements,  when,  toward  the  arched  entrance 
on  the  front,  strode  the  duke's  fool.  Beyond  the  cas- 
tle walls  and  the  inclosure  of  the  pleasure  grounds  the 
peace  of  twilight  rested  on  the  land;  the  great  fields 
lay  becalmed ;  the  distant  forests  were  bivouacs  of  rest. 

The  afternoon  had  been  a  labor  of  pleasure;  about 
the  great  basin  of  the  fountain  had  passed  an  ever- 
varying  shifting  of  moving  figures ;  between  the  trees 
bright  colors  appeared  and  vanished,  and  from  the 
heart  of  concealed  bowers  had  come  peals  of  laughter 
or  strains  of  music.  Unnoticed  among  the  merry 
throng  in  palace  and  park,  the  jester  had  moved  aim- 
lessly about ;  unobserved  now,  he  turned  his  back  upon 
the  gray  walls,  satiated,  perhaps,  with  the  fetes  in- 

121 


122  UNDERTHEROSE 

augurated  by  the  kingly  entertainer.  But  as  he  at- 
tempted to  pass  the  gate,  a  stalwart  guard  stepped  for- 
ward, presenting  a  formidable-looking  glave. 

"Your  permit  to  leave?"  he  said. 

"A  permit?  Of  course!"  replied  the  fool,  and  felt 
in  his  coat.  "But  what  a  handsome  weapon  you  have ; 
the  staff  all  covered  with  velvet  and  studded  with  brass 
tacks!" 

"Has  the  Emperor  Charles,  then,  no  such  weapons  ?" 
asked  the  gratified  soldier. 

"None  so  handsome!  May  I  see  it?"  The  guard 
unsuspiciously  handed  the  glave  to  the  jester,  who 
immediately  turned  it  upon  the  sentinel. 

"Give  it  back,  fool !"  cried  the  alarmed  guard. 

"Nay;  I  am  minded  to  call  out  and  show  a  soldier 
of  France  disarmed  by  a  foreign  fool." 

"As  well  chop  off  my  head  with  it !"  sighed  the  man. 

"And  if  I  wish  to  walk  without  the  gate  ?"  suggested 
the  jester. 

"Go,  good  fool!"  replied  the  other,  without  hesita- 
tion. 

"Well,  here  is  the  glave.  If  any  one  admires  it 
again,  let  him  study  the  point.  But  why  may  no  one 
pass  out?" 

"Because  so  many  soldiers  and  good  citizens  have 
been  beaten  and  robbed  by  those  who  hover  around 


FLIGHT    OF    THE    FOOL         123 

the  palace.  But  you  may  go  in  peace,"  he  added. 
"No  one  will  harm  a  fool.  If  'tis  amusement  you 
seek,  there's  a  camp  on  the  verge  of  the  forest  where  a 
dark-haired,  good-looking  baggage  dances  and  tells 
cards.  You  can  find  the  place  from  the  noise  within, 
and  if  you're  merry,  they'll  welcome  you  royally.  Go ; 
and  God  be  with  you !" 

The  jester  turned  from  the  good-natured  guard  and 
quickly  walked  down  the  road,  which  wound  gracefully 
through  the  valley  and  lost  itself  afar  in  a  fringe  of 
woodland.  A  light  pattering  on  the  hard  earth  behind 
caused  him  to  look  about.  Following  was  a  dog  that 
now  sprang  forward  with  joyous  demonstration.  The 
fool  stooped  and  gravely  caressed  the  hound  which 
last  he  had  seen  at  the  princess'  feet. 

"Why,"  he  said,  "thou  art  now  the  fool's  only  friend 
at  court." 

When  again  he  moved  on  with  rapid,  nervous  stride, 
the  animal  came  after.  Darker  grew  the  road ;  deeper 
hued  the  fields  and  stubble ;  more  somber  the  distant 
castle  against  the  gloaming.  Only  the  cry  of  a  diving 
night-bird  startled  the  stillness  of  the  tranquil  air;  a 
rapacious  filcher  that  quickly  rose,  and  swept  onward 
through  the  sea  of  night.  Its  melancholy  note  echoed 
in  the  breast  of  the  fool ;  mechanically,  without  relax- 
ing his  swift  pace,  he  looked  upward  to  follow  it,  when 


124  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

a  short,  sharp  bark  behind  him  and  a  premonition  of 
impending  danger  caused  him  to  spring  suddenly  aside. 
At  the  same  time  a  dagger  descended  in  the  empty  air, 
just  grazing  the  shoulder  of  the  jester,  who,  recover- 
ing himself,  grasped  the  arm  of  his  assailant  and  grap- 
pled with  him.  Finding  him  a  man  of  little  strength, 
the  fool  easily  threw  him  to  the  earth  and  kneeling  on 
his  breast  in  turn  menaced  the  assailant  with  the 
weapon  he  had  wrested  from  him. 

"Have  you  any  reason,  knave,  why  I  should  spare 
you  ?"  asked  the  fool. 

"If  I  had — for  want  of  breath — it  would  fail  me !" 
answered  the  miscreant  with  some  difficulty. 

The  duke's  jester  arose.  "Get  up,  rogue!"  he  said, 
and  the  man  obeyed. 

He  was  a  pale,  gaunt  fellow,  with  long  hair,  un- 
shaven face,  hollow  cheeks,  and  dark  eyes,  set  deeply 
in  his  head  and  shaded  by  thick,  black  brows.  His 
dress  consisted  of  a  rough  doublet,  with  lappet  sleeves, 
carried  down  to  a  point,  tight  leggings,  broad  shoes  and 
the  puffed  upper  hose ;  the  entire  raiment  frayed  and 
worn ;  his  flesh,  or,  rather,  his  bones,  showing  through 
the  scanty  covering  for  his  legs,  while  his  feet  were  no 
better  protected  than  those  of  a  trooper  who  has  been 
long  on  the  march.  He  displayed  no  fear  or  enmity ; 
on  the  contrary,  his  manner  was  rather  friendly  than 


FLIGHT    OF    THE    FOOL         125 

otherwise,  as  though  he  failed  to  understand  the  enor- 
mity of  his  offense  and  the  position  in  which  he  was 
placed.  Shifting  from  one  foot  to  another,  he  crossed 
his  great,  thin  hands  before  him  and  patiently  awaited 
his  captor's  pleasure.  The  latter  surveyed  him  curi- 
ously, and,  noting  his  woebegone  features  and  beg- 
garly attire,  pity,  perhaps,  assuaged  his  just  anger 
toward  this  starveling. 

"Why  did  you  wish  to  kill  me?"  asked  the  jester 
quietly,  if  somewhat  impatiently. 

"It  was  not  my  wish,  Master  Fool,"  gently  replied 
the  other,  but  even  as  he  spoke  the  resignation  in  his 
manner  gave  way  to  a  look  of  apprehension.  Lifting 
his  hand,  he  felt  in  his  breast  and  glanced  about  him 
on  the  road.  Then  his  face  brightened. 

"With  your  permission — I  have  e'en  dropped  some- 
thing—" 

And  stooping,  the  scamp-scholar  picked  up  a  small, 
leathern-bound  volume  from  the  ground,  where  it  had 
fallen  during  the  struggle,  and  held  it  tightly  clutched 
in  his  hand.  "Ah,"  he  muttered  with  a  glad  sigh,  "I 
feared  I  had  lost  it — my  Horace !  And  now,  Sir  Jes- 
ter, what  would  you  with  me  ?" 

"A  question  I  might  answer  with  a  question,"  re- 
plied the  fool.  "Having  failed  in  your  enterprise, 
why  should  I  spare  you  ?" 


126  UNDERTHEROSE 

"You  shouldn't,"  returned  the  vagabond-student. 
"The  ancients  teach  but  the  irrevocable  law  of  retribu- 
tion." 

To  hear  a  would-be  assassin,  a  castaway  out  of  pock- 
et and  heels  and  elbows,  calmly  proclaiming  the  Greek 
doctrine  of  inevitableness,  under  such  circumstances, 
would  have  surprised  an  observer  even  more  ex- 
perienced and  worldly  than  the  duke's  fool.  Involun- 
tarily his  face  softened ;  this  pauvre  diable  gazed  upon 
eternity  with  the  calm  eyes  of  a  Socrates. 

"You  do  not  then  beg  for  life?"  said  the  plaisant, 
his  former  impatience  merging  into  mild  curiosity. 

"Is  it  worth  begging  for?"  asked  the  straitened 
book-worm.  "Life  means  a  pinched  stomach,  a  cold 
body.  Death,  no  hunger  to  fear,  and  a  bed  that, 
though  cold,  chills  us  not.  What  we  know  not 
doth  not  exist — for  us ;  ergo,  to  lie  in  the  earth  is  to 
rest  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  for  all  our  consciousness  of 
it.  But  to  be  unconscious  of  the  ills  of  this  perishable 
frame,  Horace  likewise  must  be  as  dead  to  us  as  our 
aches  and  pains.  Thus  is  life  made  preferable  to 
death.  Yes;  I  would  live.  Hold,  though — "  he 
again  hesitated  in  deep  thought — "what  avails  Horace 
if — "  he  began. 

"Why,  what  new  data  have  entered  in  the  prem- 
ises?" observed  the  wondering  jester. 


FLIGHT    OF    THE    FOOL         127 

"Nanette !"  was  the  gloomy  answer. 

"Who,  pray,  is  Nanette?"  asked  the  fool,  thrusting 
his  assailant's  weapon  in  his  jerkin. 

"A  wanton  haggard  whose  tongue  will  run  post 
sixteen  stages  together!  Who  would  make  the  devil 
himself  malleable ;  then,  work,  hammer  and  wire-draw 
him !" 

"And  what  is  she  to  you?" 

"My  wife!  That  is,  she  claims  that  exalted  place, 
having  married  me  one  night  when  I  was  in  my  cups 
through  a  false  priest  who  dresses  as  a  Franciscan 
monk.  'Fools  in  the  court  of  God'  are  these  priests 
called,  and  truly  he  is  a  jester,  for  certainly  is  he  no 
true  monk.  But  Nanette,  nevertheless,  asserts  she  is 
the  lawful  partner  of  my  sorrows.  So  work  your  will 
on  me.  A  stroke,  and  the  shivering  spirit  is  wafted 
across  the  Styx." 

"And  if  I  gave  you  not  only  your  life — for  a  con- 
sideration hereafter  to  be  mentioned — but  a  small 
silver  piece  as  well?"  suggested  the  jester,  who  had 
been  for  some  moments  buried  in  thought. 

"Ha!"  ejaculated  the  scamp-student,  brightening. 
"Your  gift  would  match  the  piece  I  already  have  and 
which — dolt  that  I  was ! — I  overlooked  to  include  in 
my  chain  of  reasoning."  And  thrusting  his  hand  into 
his  ragged  doublet,  after  some  search  he  extracted  a 


128  UNDERTHEROSE 

diminutive  disk  upon  which  he  gazed  not  without  ar- 
dor. "Thus  are  we  forced  to  start  the  chain  of  reason- 
ing anew,"  he  remarked,  "with  Horace  and  this  bit  oi 
metal  on  one  side  of  the  scales  and  Nanette  on  the 
other.  Now  unless  the  devil  sits  on  the  beam  with 
Nanette — which  he's  like  to  do — the  book  and  the  bit 
of  dross  will  outweigh  her  and  we  arrive  at  the  certi- 
tude that  life,  qualified  as  to  duration,  may  be  hap- 
pily endured." 

"What  argument  does  the  dross  carry,  knave?"  de- 
manded the  fool,  looking  down  at  the  hound  that 
crouched  at  his  feet. 

"With  it  may  be  purchased  that  which  warms  the 
pinched  stomach.  With  it  may  be  bought  an  elixir, 
so  strong  and  magical,  it  may  breed  defiance  even  of 
Nanette.  Sir  Fool,  I  have  concluded  to  accept  life 
and  the  small  silver  piece." 

"Well  and  good,"  commented  the  jester.  "But 
there  are  conditions  attached  to  my  clemency." 

"Conditions!"  retorted  the  vagabond.  "What  are 
conditions  to  a  philosopher,  once  he  has  reached  a 
logical  assurance?" 

"First,  you  must  find  me  a  horse.  Your  Nanette, 
as  I  take  it,  is  a  gipsy  and  in  the  camp,  are,  surely, 
horses." 


FLIGHT    OF    THE    FOOL         129 

"But  why  should  you  want  a  horse?  'Tis  not  far 
to  the  castle?"  said  the  puzzled  scholar. 

"No;  but  'tis  far  away  from  it.  Next,  tell  me 
where  you  got  that  small  piece  of  silver,  like  the  one 
I  have  promised  you?" 

"From  Nanette." 

"What  for?" 

"To  accomplish  that  which  I  have  failed  to  do,"  re- 
plied the  student,  willingly.  "But,  alas,  not  having 
earned  it,  have  I  the  right  idly  to  spend  it  ?"  he  added, 
dolefully,  half  to  himself. 

"Why  did  Nanette — "  began  the  jester. 

But  the  other  raised  his  arm  with  an  expostulatory 
gesture.  "Many  things  I  know,"  he  interrupted; 
"odds  and  ends  of  erudition,  but  a  woman's  mind  I 
know  not,  nor  want  to  know.  I  had  as  soon  question 
Beelzebub  as  her ;  yea,  to  stir  up  the  devil  with  a  stick. 
If  sparing  my  life  is  contingent  on  my  knowing  why 
she  does  this,  or  that,  then  let  me  pay  the  debt  of  na- 
ture." 

"No ;  'tis  slight  punishment  to  take  from  a  man  that 
which  he  values  so  little  he  must  reason  with  himself 
to  learn  if  he  value  it  at  all,"  returned  the  duke's  jes- 
ter, slowly.  "We'll  waive  the  question,  if  you  find 
me  the  horse." 


130  UNDERTHEROSE 

"  'Tis  Nanette  you  must  ask.  There's  but  one,  old, 
yet  serviceable — " 

"Then  take  me  to  Nanette." 

"Very  well.  Follow  me,  sir ;  and  if  you're  still  of  a 
mind  when  you  see  her,  you  can  question  her." 

"Why,  is  she  so  weird  and  witch-like  to  look  upon  ?" 
said  the  fool. 

"Nay ;  the  devil  hides  his  claws  behind  the  daintiest 
fingers,  all  pink  and  white.  He  conceals  his  cloven 
hoof  in  a  slipper,  truly  sylph-like." 

"You  arouse  my  curiosity.  I  would  fain  meet  this 
fair  monster." 

"Come  then,  Master  Fool,"  replied  the  scamp-stu- 
dent, leaving  the  road  for  the  field  to  the  right,  and 
the  jester,  after  a  moment's  deliberation,  turned  like- 
wise into  the  stubble,  while  the  hound,  as  if  satisfied 
with  the  service  it  had  performed,  slowly  retraced  its 
way  toward  the  castle,  stopping,  however,  now  and 
then  to  look  around  after  the  two  men,  whose  figures 
grew  smaller  and  smaller  in  the  distance.  For  some 
space  they  walked  in  silence ;  then  the  scholar  paused, 
and,  pointing  to  a  low,  rambling  house  that  once  had 
been  a  hunter's  lodge  and  now  had  fallen  into  decay, 
exclaimed : 

"There's  where  she  lives,  fool.  I'll  warrant  she's 
not  alone." 


FLIGHT    OF    THE    FOOL         131 

At  the  same  time  a  clamor  of  voices  and  a  chorus  of 
rough  melody,  coming  from  the  cottage,  confirmed  the 
assurance  his  spouse  was  not,  indeed,  holding  solitary 
vigil. 

"  'Tis  e'en  thus  every  night,"  murmured  the  scamp 
student  in  a  melancholy  tone.  "She  gathers  'round 
her  the  scum  of  all  rudeness ;  ragged  alchemists  of 
pleasure,  who  sing  incessantly,  like  grasshoppers  on 
a  summer  day." 

"Where  is  the  horse  ?"  said  the  jester,  abruptly. 

"Stalled  in  one  of  the  rooms  for  safe  keeping. 
There  are  so  many  rascals  and  thieves  around,  you 
see—" 

"They  e'en  rob  one  another !"  returned  the  fool. 

Advancing  more  cautiously,  the  two  men  approached 
the  ancient  forester's  dwelling,  the  hue  and  cry  sound- 
ing louder  as  they  drew  near,  a  mingled  discord  of 
laughter,  shouting  and  caterwauling,  with  a  woman's 
piercing  voice  at  times  dominating  the  general  vocif- 
eration. The  philosopher  shook  his  head  despond- 
ingly,  while,  creeping  to  one  of  the  windows,  the  jest- 
er looked  in. 

Near  the  fire  was  a  misshapen  creature,  a  sort  of 
monstrous  imbecile  that  chattered  and  moaned;  a  be- 
ing that  bore  some  resemblance  to  the  ancient  morios 
once  sold  at  the  olden  Forum  Morionum  to  the  ladies 


132  UNDERTHEROSE 

who  desired  these  hideous  animals  for  their  amuse- 
ment. At  his  feet  gamboled  a  dwarf  that  squeaked 
and  screeched,  distorting  its  face  in  hideous  grimaces. 
Scattered  about  the  room,  singing,  bawling  or  brawl- 
ing, were  indigent  morris  dancers;  bare-footed  min- 
strels ;  a  pinched  and  needy  versificator ;  a  reduced 
mountebank ;  a  swarthy  clown,  with  a  hare's  mouth ; 
j  collators  of  the  streets,  poor  as  rats  and  living  as 
such,  straitened,  heedless  fellows,  with  heads  full  of 
nonsense  and  purses  empty,  poor  in  pocket,  but  rich 
in  plaisanterie. 

Upon  the  table,  with  cards  in  her  lap,  which  she 
studied  idly,  sat  a  hard-featured,  deep-bosomed  wom- 
an, neither  old  nor  uncomely,  with  thick,  black  hair, 
coarse  as  a  horse's  mane,  cheeks  red  as  a  berry,  glow- 
ing with  health.  In  her  pose  was  a  certain  savage 
grace,  an  untrammeled  freedom  which  revealed  the 
vigorous  outlines  of  a  well-proportioned  figure.  Her 
eye  was  bright  as  a  diamond  and  bold  as  a  trooper's ; 
when  she  lifted  her  head  she  looked  disdainfully, 
scornfully,  fiercely,  upon  the  strange  and  monstrous 
company  of  which  she  was  queen. 

"Where  can  the  thief-friar  be?"  muttered  the  stu- 
dent. "He  is  usually  not  far  off  from  sweet  Nanette." 

"You  mean  the  monk  who  had  a  hand  in  your  nup- 
tials?" 


FLIGHT    OF    THE    FOOL         133 

"Who  else?  He,  the  source  of  all  ill.  He  who 
gave  her  the  money  of  which  she  e'en  presented  me 
a  moiety.  Whoever  employed  him — was  it  your 
friends,  gentle  sir? — rewarded  him  with  gold.  Being 
a  craven  rogue,  I  e'en  suspect  him  of  shifting  the  task 
to  myself  for  a  beggarly  pittance,  whilst  he  is  off  with 
the  lion's  share." 

The  jester,  watching  the  company  within,  made  no 
reply.  From  the  student  to  the  woman,  to  the  friar, 
was  a  chain  leading — where?  He  found  it  not  diffi- 
cult to  surmise.  Suddenly  Nanette  threw  down  the 
cards  and  laughed  harshly. 

"Neither  the  devil  nor  his  imps  could  read  the 
things  that  are  happening  in  the  castle !" 

Then  abruptly  springing  from  the  table,  she  made 
her  way  to  the  fire,  over  which  hung  a  pot  of  some 
savory  stew,  a  magnet  to  the  company's  sharp  desire ; 
for  throughout  all  the  boisterous  merriment  wandering 
glances  had  invariably  returned  to  it.  To  reach  the 
kettle  and  make  herself  mistress  of  the  culinary  prepa- 
rations, she  cuffed  a  dwarf  with  such  vigor  that  he 
hobbled  howling  from  a  suspicious  proximity  to  the 
appetizing  mess  to  a  safe  refuge  beneath  the  table. 
With  equally  dauntless  spirit,  she  pushed  aside  the 
herculean  morio  who  had  been  childishly  standing  over 
the  pot,  licking  his  fingers  in  eager  anticipation ;  where- 


134  UNDERTHEROSE 

upon  the  imbecile  set  up  a  sharp  cry  that  blended  with 
the  deeper  roar  of  the  lilliputian. 

"And  I  caught  the  rabbit!"  piteously  bellowed  the 
latter  from  his  retreat. 

"And  I  found  the  turnips !"  cried  the  colossal  idiot, 
tears  running  down  his  lubberly  cheeks. 

"Peace,  you  demons!"  exclaimed  the  woman,  wav- 
ing the  spoon  at  them,  "or,  by  the  hell-born,  you'll 
ne'er  taste  morsel  of  it !" 

Quieted  by  this  stupendous  threat,  they  closed  their 
mouths  and  opened  their  eyes  but  the  wider,  while  the 
gipsy  spouse  of  the  student  stirred  and  stirred  the 
mixture  in  the  iron  pot,  gazing  at  the  fire  with 
frowning  brow  as  though  she  would  read  some  page 
of  the  future  in  the  leaping  flames. 

"Saw  you  but  now  how  she  served  the  dwarf  and 
the  overgrown  lump?"  whispered  the  student  to  the 
duke's  fool.  "Are  you  still  minded  to  meet  her?" 

For  answer  the  jester  left  the  window,  stepped  to  the 
door,  and,  opening  it,  strode  into  the  room. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   FOOL   RETURNS   TO   THE    CASTLE 

As  the  duke's  fool  suddenly  appeared  in  the  crowd- 
ed apartment,  the  hubbub  abruptly  ceased;  the  min- 
strels and  mountebanks  gazed  in  surprise  at  the  slen- 
der figure  of  the  alien  jester  whose  rich  garments  pro- 
claimed him  a  personage  of  importance,  one  who  had 
reached  that  pinnacle  in  buffoonery,  the  high  office  of 
court  plaisant.  The  mono  crouched  against  the  wall, 
his  fear  of  the  new-comer  as  great  as  his  body  was 
large;  the  garret  minstrels  stopped  strumming  their 
instruments,  while  the  woman  at  the  fire  uttered  a 
quick  exclamation  and  dropped  the  spoon  with  a  clat- 
ter to  the  floor,  where  it  was  promptly  seized  by  the 
dwarf,  who,  taking  advantage  of  the  woman's  con- 
sternation, thrust  it  greedily  to  his  lips.  But  soon  re- 
covering from  her  wonderment,  the  gipsy  soundly 
boxed  the  dwarf's  ears,  recovered  her  spoon  and  set 
herself  once  more  to  stirring  the  contents  of  the  pot. 

The  jester  observed  her  for  a  moment — the  heavy, 
135 


136  UNDERTHEROSE 

bare  arm  moving  round  and  round  over  the  kettle ;  her 
sunburnt  legs  uncovered  to  the  knee;  the  masculine 
attitude  of  her  figure  with  the  torn  and  worn  garments 
that  covered  her — and  she  seemed  to  him  a  veritable 
trull  of  disorder  and  squalor.  The  gipsy,  too,  looked 
at  him  over  her  shoulder,  and,  as  she  gazed,  her  hand 
went  slower  and  slower,  until  all  motion  ceased,  and 
the  spoon  lay  on  the  edge  of  the  pot,  when  she  turned 
deliberately,  offering  him  the  full  sight  of  her  bold 
cheeks  and  shameless  eyes. 

"Are  you  Nanette,  wife  of  this  philosopher  ?"  asked 
the  duke's  fool,  approaching,  and  indicating  the  miser- 
able scamp  who  clung  near  the  doorway  as  one  unde- 
cided whether  to  enter  or  run  away. 

"Yes;  I  am  Nanette,  his  true  and  lawful  spouse," 
she  answered  with  a  shrill  laugh.  "Wilt  come  to  me, 
true-love?"  she  called  out  to  her  apprehensive  yoke- 
mate. 

"Nay;  I'll  go  out  in  the  air  a  while,"  hurriedly  re- 
plied the  vagabond-scholar,  and  quickly  vanished. 

"Ah,  how  he  loves  me !"  she  continued. 

"So  much  he  prefers  a  cony-burrow  to  his  own  fire- 
side," said  the  fool  dryly. 

"A  hole  i'  the  earth  is  too  good  for  such  a  scurvy 
fellow,"  she  retorted.  "But  what  would  you  here, 
fool?  A  song,  a  jest,  a  dance?  Or  have  you  come 


THE    FOOL    RETURNS  137 

to  learn  a  new  story,  or  ballad,  for  the  lordlings  you 
must  entertain?"  Unabashed,  she  approached  a  step 
nearer. 

"Your  stories,  mistress,  would  be  unsuited  for  the 
court,  and  your  ballads  best  unsung,"  he  retorted.  "I 
came,  not  to  sharpen  my  wits,  but  to  learn  from  whom 
the  thief-friar  got  the  small  piece  of  silver  you  gave 
your  consort,  and,  also,  to  procure  a  horse." 

Her  brazen  eyes  wavered.  "A  horse  and  a  fool  fly- 
ing," she  muttered.  "Even  what  the  cards  showed. 
The  fool  seeking  the  duke !"  A  puzzled  look  crossed 
her  face.  "But  the  duke  is  here?"  she  continued  to 
herself.  "A  strange  riddle !  All  the  signs  show  devil- 
ment, but  what  it  is — " 

"Good  Nanette,"  interrupted  the  jester,  satirically, 
"I  have  no  time  for  spells  or  incantation." 

"How  dared  you  come  here,"  she  said,  hoarsely, 
"after—" 

"After  your  mate  proved  but  an  indifferent  servant 
of  yours?"  he  concluded,  meeting  her  sullen  gaze 
with  one  so  stern  and  inflexible  that  before  it  her  eyes 
fell. 

"Do  you  not  know,"  she  said,  endeavoring  to  main- 
tain a  hardened  front,  "I  have  but  to  say  the  word, 
and  all  these  friends  of  mine  would  tear  you  to  pieces  ? 
What  would  you  do,  my  pretty  fellows,  an  I  ask 


138  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

you?"  she  cried  out,  her  voice  rising-  audaciously. 
"Would  you  suffer  this  duke's  jester  to  stand  against 
me?" 

Glances  of  suspicion  and  animosity  shot  from  a 
score  of  eyes;  fists  were  half-clenched;  knives  ap- 
peared in  a  trice  from  the  concealment  of  rags,  and  a 
low  murmur  arose  from  the  gathering.  Even  the 
imbecile  morio,  nature's  trembling  coward,  became 
suddenly  valiant,  and,  with  huge  frame  uplifted, 
seemed  about  to  spring  savagely  upon  the  fool.  An 
expression  of  disgust  replaced  all  other  feeling  on 
the  features  of  the  duke's  plaisant. 

"Spare  me  your  threats,  Nanette,"  he  replied,  cold- 
ly. "Had  you  intended  to  set  them  on  me,  you  would 
have  done  it  long  ere  this." 

The  woman  hesitated.  His  calm,  almost  contemptu- 
ous, confidence  was  not  without  its  effect  upon  her. 
Had  he  trembled,  she  would  have  spoken,  but  before 
his  disdain,  and  the  gay  splendor  of  his  attire,  con- 
spicuous amid  rags  from  rubbish  heaps,  she  felt  a  sud- 
den consciousness  of  her  own  unclean  environment; 
at  the  same  time  unusual  warnings  in  her  conjura- 
tions recurred  to  her.  Something  about  him — was  it 
dignity  or  pride  or  a  nameless  fear  she  herself  ex- 
perienced but  could  not  understand? — beat  down  her 
eyes  and  she  turned  them  doggedly  away. 


THE    FOOL    RETURNS  139 

Abruptly  she  moved  to  the  fire  and  again  began  to 
stir  the  mess,  while  the  suppressed  excitement  in  the 
room  at  once  subsided.  A  minstrel  lightly  touched 
his  battered  dulcimer;  a  poet  hummed  a  song  in  the 
dialect  of  thieves;  a  juggler  began  practising  some 
deft  work  for  hand  and  eye,  and  he  of  the  hare  lip 
sank  quietly  into  a  corner  and  patiently  watched  the 
simmering  pot.  The  dwarf,  with  some  misgiving,  as 
a  dog  that  is  beaten  crawls  cautiously  out  of  its  ken- 
nel, crept  from  beneath  the  table. 

"Oh,  mistress,"  he  whimpered,  "some  of  it  has 
boiled  over!" 

"Boiled  over !"  echoed  the  morio,  mournfully. 

At  the  same  time  the  woman  grasped  the  handle  of 
the  heavy  kettle,  lifted  it  from  the  jack,  displaying 
in  her  bared  arms  the  muscles  of  a  man,  and,  stagger- 
ing beneath  the  load,  bore  it  steaming  to  the  table. 
Amid  the  subsequent  confusion,  the  gipsy  held  aloof 
from  the  demolition  of  the  rabbit,  and,  seating  herself 
at  the  foot  of  the  table,  began  moodily  once  more  to 
turn  the  cards. 

A  merry  droll  acted  as  host  and  dipped  freely  for 
all  with  the  long  spoon,  commenting  the  while  he  dis- 
pensed the  mess  according  to  the  wants  of  the  mis- 
cellaneous gathering:  "Pot-luck!  Tis  luck,  and 
they're  no  field  mice  in  it !  There's  everything  else !" 


140  UNDERTHEROSE 

or  "A  bit  of  rabbit,  my  masters!  I'll  warrant  he'll 
hop  down  your  throats  as  fast  as  e'er  he  jumped  a 
hillock."  And,  when  one  ate  too  greedily,  slap  went 
a  spoonful  of  gravy  o'er  him  with:  "I  thought  you 
would  catch  it,  knave!" 

"Are  they  not  blithe  devils  'round  the  caldron?" 
muttered  the  woman.  "There  it  is  again!" — Bending 
over  the  bits  of  pasteboard  on  the  table.  "The  duke 
here!  And  the  fool  on  horseback!  What  do  the 
cards  mean  ?" 

"That  I  must  have  the  horse,  Nanette,"  said  the 
duke's  jester,  standing  motionless  and  firm  before  the 
fireplace. 

"Are  you  the  fool  ?"  she  asked,  more  to  herself  than 
him.  "Why  does  he  wish  to  ride  away  ?" 

"Will  you  sell  me  the  horse?"  he  demanded. 

She  hesitated.  Around  them  danced  the  shadows 
of  the  kettle-gourmands: 

"A  kern  and  a  drole,  a  varlet  and  a  blade 
A  drab  and  a  rep,  a  skit  and  a  jade — " 

sang  the  street  poet;  the  dwarf  and  the  morio  (a  lilli- 
putian  and  Gulliver)  fought  a  mimic  combat ;  the  jug- 
gler and  the  clown,  who  could  eat  no  more,  were  keep- 
ing time  to  a  chorus  by  beating  with  their  empty 
trenchers  on  the  table. 


THE    FOOL    RETURNS  141 

"Sell  you  the  horse?     For  what?"  asked  the  gipsy. 

"For  five  gold  pieces." 

"A  fool  with  five  gold  pieces!"  she  exclaimed,  in- 
credulously. 

"Here!  You  may  see  them."  And  he  opened  a 
purse  he  carried  at  his  girdle. 

"Do  not  let  them  know,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "They 
would  kill  you  and — " 

"You  would  not  get  the  money,"  he  added,  signifi- 
cantly. "If  you  act  quickly,  find  me  a  horse  and  let 
me  go ;  it  is  you,  not  they,  who  will  profit." 

Abruptly  she  rose.  "It  is  fate,"  she  remarked,  her 
eyes  greedy. 

His  glance,  as  he  stood  there,  proud  and  stern,  cut 
her  sharply.  "Say  cupidity,  Nanette!"  he  laughed 
softly.  "It  is  more  profitable  not  to  betray  me.  In 
the  one  case  you  get  much ;  in  the  other,  little." 

"Stay  here,"  she  replied,  hastily.  "I'll  fetch  the 
horse."  And  vanished. 

A  moment  he  remained,  then  resolutely  turning  to 
the  door  through  which  she  had  disappeared,  opened 
it,  and  found  himself  in  a  combined  sleeping-room 
and  stable;  a  dark  apartment,  with  floor  of  hardened 
earth  and  a  single  window,  open  to  wind  and  weather. 
The  atmosphere  in  this  chamber  for  man  and  beast  was 
impregnated  with  the  smell  of  mold  and  dry-rot,  min- 


142  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

gled  with  the  livelier  effluvium  of  dirt  and  grime  of 
years ;  but  amid  the  malodor  and  mustiness,  on  a  couch 
under  the  window,  slumbered  and  snored  the  false 
Franciscan  monk.  By  his  side  was  a  tankard,  half- 
filled  with  stale  sack,  and  in  his  hand  he  clutched  a 
gold  piece  as  though  he  had  had  an  intimation  it  would 
be  safer  there  than  elsewhere  on  his  person  during 
the  pot-valiant  sleep  he  had  deliberately  courted.  His 
hood  had  fallen  back,  displaying  a  bullet  head,  red 
cheeks  and  purple  nose,  while  the  wooden  beads  of 
this  sottish  counterfeit  of  a  friar  trailed  from  his  girdle 
on  the  ground.  From  a  stall  in  a  far  corner  a  large, 
bony-looking  nag  turned  its  head  reproachfully,  as  if 
mentally  protesting  against  such  foul  quarters  and  the 
poor  company  they  offered.  Its  melancholy  whinny 
upon  the  appearance  of  the  woman  was  a  sigh  for 
freedom ;  a  sad  suspiration  to  the  memory  of  radiant 
clover  fields  or  poppy-starred  meadows. 

"Why,  here's  a  holy  man  worn  out  by  too  many 
paternosters,"  commented  the  duke's  fool,  standing  on 
the  threshold;  and  then  gazed  from  the  gold  piece 
in  the  monk's  hand  to  the  woman.  "I  need  not  ask 
where  you  got  the  silver,  Nanette.  Tis  a  chain  of 
evidence  leading — where  ?" 

The  gipsy  replied  only  with  dark  looks,  regarding 
his  intrusion  in  this  inner  sanctuary  as  a  fresh  provoca- 


THE    FOOL    RETURNS  143 

tion  for  her  just  displeasure.  The  jester,  however, 
paid  no  attention  to  these  signs  of  new  acerbity  on  her 
face. 

Crossing  to  the  couch,  he  shook  the  monk  vigor- 
ously, but  the  latter  only  held  his  piece  of  money  tight- 
er like  a  miser  whose  treasure  is  threatened,  and  snored 
the  louder.  Again  the  fool  essayed  to  waken  him, 
and  this  time  he  opened  his  eyes,  felt  for  his  beads  and 
commenced  to  mutter  a  prayer  in  Latin  words,  strung 
together  in  meaningless  phrases. 

"Why,"  commented  the  jester,  "his  learning  is  as 
false  as  his  cloak.  Wake  up,  sirrah !  Would  you  ap- 
proach Heaven's  gate  with  a  feigned  prayer  on  your 
lips  and  a  toss-pot  in  your  hand  ?" 

"Christe  tuum — I  absolve  you!  I  absolve  you!" 
muttered  the  friar.  "Go  your  way  in  peace." 

"Hear  me,  thou  trumped-up  monk;  do  you  want 
another  piece  of  gold  ?" 

"Gold!"  repeated  the  other,  tipsily.  "What — wHat 
for?  To — to  help  some  fool  to  paradise — or  purga- 
tory? 'Tis  for  the  Church  I  beg,  good  people.  The 
holy  Church — Church  I  say!" 

Winking  and  blinking,  seeing  nothing  before  him, 
he  held  out  a  trembling  hand.  "The  piece  of  gold — 
give  it  to  me !"  he  mumbled. 


144  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Yes;  in  exchange  for  your  cloak,"  answered  the 
jester. 

"My  cloak,  thou  horse-leech!  Sell  my  skin  for — 
piece  of  gold !  Want  my  cloak  ?  Take  it !"  And  the 
dissembler  rolled  over,  extending  his  arms.  The  jes- 
ter grasped  the  garment  by  the  sleeves  and  with  some 
difficulty  whipped  it  from  him. 

"Now  hand  me — the  money  and — cover  me  with 
rags  that — I  may  sleep,"  continued  the  beer-bibber. 
"So" — as  he  grasped  the  money  the  fool  gave  him 
and  stretched  himself  luxuriously  beneath  a  noisome 
litter  of  cast-off  clothes  and  rubbish — "I  languish  in 
ecstasies !  The  angels — are  singing  around  me." 

With  growing  surprise  and  ill-humor  had  the  wom- 
an observed  this  novel  proceeding,  and  now,  when  the 
jester  had  himself  donned  the  false  friar's  gown,  she 
said  grudgingly: 

"You  did  not  give  him  one  of  the  five  pieces  ?" 

"No ;  there  are  still  five  left." 

"A  bit  of  gold  for  a  cloak !"  she  grumbled.  "It  is 
overmuch.  But  there!"  Unfastening  a  door  that 
looked  out  upon  the  field.  "Give  me  the  money  and 
be  gone." 

He  grasped  the  bridle  of  the  horse,  handed  her  the 
promised  reward,  and,  drawing  the  hood  of  the  monk's 
garment  over  his  head,  led  the  nag  out  into  the  open 


THE    FOOL    RETURNS  145 

air.  The  door  closed  quickly  behind  him  and  he  heard 
the  wooden  bolt  as  it  shot  into  place.  Above  the  dark 
outlines  of  the  forest,  the  moon,  full-orbed,  now  shone 
in  the  sky,  with  a  myriad  attendant  stars,  its  silver 
beams  flooding  the  open  spaces  and  revealing  every 
detail,  soft,  dreamy,  yet  distinct.  A  languorous,  redo- 
lent air  just  stirred  the  waving  grain,  on  which  rested 
a  glossy  shimmer. 

As  the  fool  was  about  to  spring  upon  the  horse,  a 
shadow  suddenly  appeared  around  the  corner  of  the 
house  and  the  animal  danced  aside  in  affright.  Be- 
fore the  jester  could  quiet  and  mount  the  nag,  the 
shadow  resolved  itself  into  a  man,  and,  behind  him, 
came  a  numerous  band,  the  play  of  light  on  helmet, 
sword  and  dagger  revealing  them  as  a  party  of  troop- 
ers. Doubtless  having  indulged  freely,  they  had  be- 
come inclined  to  new  adventures,  and  accordingly  had 
bent  their  footsteps  toward  the  "little  house  on  the 
verge  of  the  wood,"  where  merry  company  was  al- 
ways to  be  found.  At  the  sight  of  the  duke's  fool  and 
the  horse  they  pressed  forward,  and,  with  one  accord, 
surrounded  him. 

"The  Franciscan  monk !"  cried  one. 

"Where  is  he  going  so  late  with  the  nag?"  asked 
another. 

"He's  off  to  confess  some  one,"  exclaimed  a  third. 


146  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"A  petticoat,  most  likely,  the  rogue!"  rejoined  the 
second  speaker. 

"Well,  what  have  we  to  do  with  his  love  affairs?" 
laughed  the  first  trooper.  "Ride  on,  good  father,  and 
keep  tryst." 

"Yes,  ride  on !"  the  others  called  out. 

The  monk  bowed.  An  interruption  which"  had 
promised  to  defeat  his  designs  seemed  drawing  to  a 
harmless  conclusion.  His  hopes  ran  high;  the  sol- 
diers had  not  yet  penetrated  beneath  the  costume;  he 
had  already  determined  to  leap  upon  the  horse  in  a 
rush  for  freedom  when  a  heavy,  detaining  hand  was 
laid  on  his  shoulder. 

"One  moment,  knave!"  said  a  deep  voice,  and, 
wheeling  sharply,  the  fool  looked  into  the  keen,  ferret 
eyes  of  the  trooper  with  the  red  mustaches.  "I  have 
a  question  to  ask.  Have  you  done  that  which  you 
were  to  do  ?" 

The  friar  nodded  his  assent.  "The  fool  will  trouble 
the  duke  no  more,"  he  answered. 

"Ah,  he  is" — began  the  soldier. 

"Even  so.     And  now  pray  let  me  pass." 

"Yes;  let  him  pass!"  urged  one  of  the  soldiers. 
"Would  you  keep  some  longing  trollop  waiting?" 

The  leader  of  the  troopers  did  not  answer;  his 
glance  was  bent  upon  the  ground.  "Yes,  you  may 


THE    FOOL    RETURNS  147 

go,"  he  commented,  "when — "  and  suddenly  thrust 
forth  an  arm  and  pulled  back  the  enshrouding  cloak. 

"The  duke's  fool!"  he  cried.  "Close  in,  rogues! 
Let  him  not  escape." 

Fiercely  the  fool's  hand  sought  his  breast;  then, 
swiftly  realizing  that  it  needed  but  a  pretext  to  bring 
about  the  end  desired  by  the  pretender  in  the  castle, 
with  an  effort  he  restrained  himself,  and  confronted 
his  assailants,  outwardly  calm. 

"  'Tis  a  poor  jest  which  fails,"  he  said,  easily. 

"Jest !"  grimly  returned  he  of  the  red  mustaches. 
"Call  you  it  a  jest,  this  monk's  disguise?  Once  on 
the  horse,  it  would  have  been  no  jest,  and  I'll  warrant 
you  would  soon  have  left  the  castle  far  behind.  Yes ; 
and  but  for  the  cloven  foot,  the  jest,  as  you  call  it, 
would  have  succeeded,  too.  Had  it  not  been,"  he 
added,  "for  the  pointed,  silken  shoe,  peeping  out  from 
beneath  the  holy  robe — a  covering  of  vanity,  instead 
of  holy  nakedness — you  would  certainly  have  deceived 
me,  and" — with  a  brusque  laugh — "slipped  away  from 
your  master,  the  duke." 

"The  duke?"  said  the  jester,  as  casting  the  now 
useless  cloak  from  him,  he  deliberately  scrutinized  the 
rogue. 

"The  duke,"  returned  the  man,  stolidly.  "Well, 
this  spoils  our  sport  for  to-night,  knaves,"  he  went  on, 


148  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

turning  to  the  other  troopers,  "for  we  must  e'en  escort 
the  jester  back  to  the  castle." 

"Beshrew  him !"  they  answered,  of  one  accord.  "A 
plague  upon  him!" 

And  slowly  the  fool  and  the  soldiers  began  to  re- 
trace their  way  across  the  moon-lit  fields,  the  trooper 
with  the  red  mustaches  grumbling  as  they  went: 
"Such  luck  to  turn  back  now,  with  all  those  mad-caps 
right  under  our  nose !  A  curse  to  a  dry  march  over  a 
dusty  meadow!  An  unsanctified  dog  of  a  monk! 
'Tis  like  a  campaign,  with  naught  but  ditch  water  to 
drink.  The  devil  take  the  friar  and  the  jester !  For- 
ward !  the  fool  in  the  center,  and  those  he  would  have 
fooled  around  him !" 

And  when  they  disappeared  in  the  distance  the  gipsy 
woman  might  have  been  seen  leaving  the  house  by 
the  stable  door  and  leading  in  the  horse. 


CHAPTER  XI 

K  NEW   MESSENGER  TO  THE   EMPEROR 

Between  Caillette  and  the  duke's  jester  had  arisen 
one  of  those  friendships  which  spring  more  from 
similitude  than  unlikeness;  an  amity  of  which  each 
had  been  unconscious  in  its  inception,  but  which  had 
gradually  grown  into  a  sentiment  of  comradeship. 
Caillette  was  of  noble  mien,  graceful  manner  and  ele- 
gant address ;  a  soldier  by  preference ;  a  jester  against 
his  will,  forced  to  the  office  by  the  nobleman  who  had 
cared  for  and  educated  him.  In  the  duke's  fool  he 
had  found  his  other  self;  a  man  who  like  himself  lent 
dignity  to  the  gentle  art  of  jesting;  who  could  turn  a 
rhyme  and  raise  a  laugh  without  resorting  to  gross- 
ness. 

The  line  of  demarcation  between  the  clown  and  the 
merry-and-wise  wit  was,  in  those  days,  not  clearly 
drawn.  The  stories  of  the  former,  which  made  the 
matrons  look  down  and  the  maidens  to  hide  their  faces, 
were  often  more  appreciated  by  the  inebriate  nobles 

149 


150  UNDERTHEROSE 

than  some  subtile  comicality  or  nimble  lines  of  poetry, 
that  would  serve  to  take  home  and  think  over,  and 
which  improved  with  time  like  a  wine  of  sound  body. 
Triboulet  abused  the  anciejit  art  of  foolery,  thought 
Caillette ;  the  duke's  plaisant  played  upon  it  with  true 
drollery,  and  as  a  master  who  has  a  delicate  ear  for 
an  instrument,  so  Caillette,  being  sensitive  to  broad- 
ness or  stupidity  which  masked  as  humor  or  pleas- 
antry, turned  naturally  from  the  mountebank  to  the 
true  jester. 

Moreover,  Caillette  experienced  a  superior  sadness, 
sifted  through  years  of  infestivity  and  gloom,  be- 
ginning when  Diane  was  led  to  the  altar  by  the  grand 
seneschal  of  Normandy,  that  threw  an  actual,  albeit 
cynical,  interest  about  the  love-tragedy  of  the  duke's 
fool  which  the  other  divined  and — from  his  own  past 
heart-throbs — understood.  The  plaisant  to  the  prin- 
cess' betrothed,  Caillette  would  have  sworn,  was  of 
gentle  birth ;  his  face,  manner  and  bearing  proclaimed 
it;  he  was,  also,  a  scholar  and  a  poet;  his  courage, 
which  Caillette  divined,  fitted  him  for  the  higher  of- 
fice of  arms.  Certainly,  he  became  an  interesting  com- 
panion, and  the  French  jester  sought  his  company  on 
every  occasion.  And  this  fellowship,  or  intimacy, 
which  he  courted  was  destined  to  send  Caillette  forth 
on  a  strange  and  adventuresome  mission. 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  151 

The  day  following  the  return  of  the  duke's  fool  to 
the  castle,  Francis,  who  early  in  his  reign  had  sought 
to  model  his  life  after  the  chivalrous  romances,  in- 
augurated a  splendid  and  pompous  tournament.  Some 
time  before,  the  pursuivants  had  proclaimed  the  event 
and  distributed  to  the  knights  who  were  to  take  active 
part  the  shields  of  arms  of  the  four  juges-diseurs,  or 
umpires  of  the  field.  On  this  gala  occasion  the  scaf- 
folds and  stands  surrounding  the  arena  were  bedecked 
in  silks  of  bright  colors ;  against  the  cloudless  sky  a 
thousand  festal  flags  waved  and  fluttered  in  the  gentle 
breeze ;  beneath  the  tasseled  awning  festoons  of  bright 
flowers  embellished  gorgeous  hangings  and  tapestries. 

The  king  rode  from  the  castle  under  a  pavilion  of 
cloth  of  gold  and  purple  velvet,  with  the  letters  F  and 
R,  boldly  outlined,  followed  by  ladies  and  courtiers, 
pages  and  attendants.  Amid  the  shouts  and  huzzas 
of  the  people,  the  monarch  and  his  retinue  took  their 
places  in  the  center  of  the  stand,  the  royal  box  hung 
with  ornate  brocades  and  trimmings. 

In  an  inclosure  of  white,  next  to  that  of  the  king, 
was  seated  the  Lady  of  the  Tournament,  the  Princess 
Louise,  and  her  maids  of  honor,  arrayed  all  in  snowy 
garb,  and,  against  the  garish  brilliancy  of  the  general 
background,  a  pompous  pageantry  of  colors,  the  deco- 
ration of  this  dainty  nook  shone  in  silvery  contrast.  A 


152  UNDERTHEROSE 

garland  of  flowers  was  the  only  crown  the  lady  wore ; 
no  other  adornment  had  her  fair  shoulders  save  their 
own  argent  beauty,  of  which  the  fashion  of  the  day 
permitted  a  discernible  suggestion.  One  arm  hung 
languorously  across  the  railing,  as  she  leaned  forward 
with  seeming  carelessness,  but  intently  directed  her 
glance  to  the  scene  below,  where  the  attendants  were 
arranging  the  ring  or  leading  the  wondrously  pranked- 
out  chargers  to  their  stalls. 

Behind  her,  motionless  as  a  statue,  with  face  that 
looked  paler,  and  lips  the  redder,  and  hair  the  blacker, 
stood  the  maid  Jacqueline.  If  the  casual  glance  saw 
first  the  blond  head,  the  creamy  arms  and  sunny  blue 
eyes  of  the  princess,  it  was  apt  to  linger  with  almost 
a  start  of  wonder  upon  the  striking  figure  of  the  jest- 
ress,  a  nocturnal  touch  in  a  pearly  picture. 

"On  my  word,  there's  a  decorative  creature  for  any 
lord  to  have  in  his  house,"  murmured  the  aged  chan- 
cellor of  the  kingdom,  sitting  near  the  monarch. 
"Who  is  she?" 

"A  beggar's  brat  Francis  found  here  when  he  took 
the  castle,"  replied  the  beribboned  spark  addressed. 
"You  know  the  story?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  white-haired  diplomat,  half-sadly. 
"This  castle  once  belonged  to  the  great  Constable  of 
Dubrois.  When  he  fell  from  favor  the  king  besieged 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  153 

him;  the  constable  fled  and  died  in  Spain.  That 
much,  of  course,  I — and  the  world — know.  But  the 
girl-" 

"When  our  victorious  monarch  took  possession  of 
this  ancient  pile,"  explained  the  willing  courtier,  "the 
only  ones  left  in  it  were  an  old  gamekeeper  and  his 
daughter,  a  gipsy-like  maid  who  ran  wild  in  the  woods. 
Time  hath  tamed  her  somewhat,  but  there  she  stands." 

"And  what  sad  memories  of  a  noble  but  unfortunate 
gentleman  cluster  around  her !"  muttered  the  chancel- 
lor. "Alas,  for  our  brief  hour  of  triumph  and  favor ! 
Yesterday  was  he  great;  I,  nothing.  To-day,  what 
am  I,  while  he — is  nothing." 

A  great  murmur,  resolving  itself  into  shouts  and 
resounding  outcry,  interrupted  the  noble's  reminiscent 
mood,  as  a  thick-set  figure  in  richly  chased  armor, 
mounted  on  a  massive  horse,  crossed  the  arena. 

"Bon  Vouloir!"  they  cried.     "Bon  Vouloir!" 

It  was  the  name  assumed  by  the  free  baron  for  the 
day,  while  other  knights  were  known  for  the  time 
being  by  such  euphonious  and  chivalrous  appellations 
as  Vaillant  Desyr,  Bon  Espoir  or  Coeur  Loyal.  Bon 
Vouloir,  upon  this  popular  demonstration,  reined  his 
steed,  and,  removing  his  head-covering,  bowed  rever- 
ently to  the  king  and  his  suite,  deeply  to  the  Lady  of 
the  Tournament  and  her  retinue,  and  carelessly  to  the 


154  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

vociferous  multitude,  after  which  he  retired  to  a  large 
tent  of  crimson  and  gold,  set  apart  for  his  convenience 
and  pleasure. 

From  the  purple  box  the  monarch  had  nodded  gra- 
ciously and  from  the  silver  bower  the  lady  had  smiled 
softly,  so  that  the  duke  had  no  reason  for  dissatis- 
faction ;  the  attitude  of  the  crowd  was  of  small  mo- 
ment, an  unmusical  accompaniment  to  the  potent  pan- 
tomime, of  which  the  principal  figures  were  Francis, 
the  King  Arthur  of  Europe,  and  the  princess,  queen 
of  beauty's  unbounded  realm. 

In  front  of  the  duke's  pavilion  was  hung  his  shield, 
and  by  its  side  stood  his  squire,  fancifully  dressed  in 
rich  colors.  Behind  ranged  the  men  of  arms,  whose 
lances  formed  a  fence  to  hold  in  check  the  people  from 
far  and  wide,  among  whom  the  pick-purses,  light-fin- 
gered scamps,  and  sturdy  beggars  conscientiously  cir- 
culated, plying  themselves  assiduously.  The  fashion 
of  the  day  prescribed  carrying  the  purse  and  the  dag- 
ger dangling  from  the  girdle,  and  many  a  good  citizen 
departed  from  the  tourney  without  the  one  and  with 
the  other,  and  it  is  needless  to  say  which  of  the  two 
articles  the  filcher  left  its  owner.  And  none  was 
more  enthusiastic  or  demonstrative  of  the  features  of 
the  lists  than  these  rapacious  riflers,  who  loudly 
cheered  the  merry  monarch  or  shouted  for  his  gallant 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  155 

knights,  while  deftly  cutting  purse-cords  or  despoiling 
honest  country  dames  of  brooches,  clasps  or  other 
treasured  articles  of  adornment. 

Near  the  duke's  pavilion,  to  the  right,  had  been 
pitched  a  commodious  tent  of  yellow  material,  with 
ropes  of  the  same  color,  and  a  fool's  cap  crowning  the 
pole  in  place  of  the  customary  banner.  Over  the  en- 
trance was  suspended  the  jester's  gilded  wand  and  a 
staff,  from  which  hung  a  blown  bladder.  Here  were 
quartered  the  court  jesters  whom  Francis  had  com- 
manded to  be  fittingly  attired  for  the  lists  and  to 
take  part  in  the  general  combat.  In  vain  had  Tribou- 
let  pleaded  that  they  would  occasion  more  merriment 
if  assigned  to  the  king's  box  than  doomed  to  the  arena. 

"That  may  be,"  Francis  had  answered,  "but  on  this 
occasion  all  the  people  must  witness  your  antics." 

"Antics !"  Triboulet  had  shuddered.  "An  I  should 
be  killed,  your  Majesty?" 

"Then  it  will  be  amusing  to  see  you  quiet  for  once 
in  your  life,"  had  been  the  laughing  reply. 

And  with  this  poor  assurance  the  dwarf  had  been 
obliged  to  content  himself — not  merrily,  'tis  true,  but 
with  much  inward  disquietude,  secretly  execrating  his 
monarch  for  this  revival  of  ancient  and  barbarous 
practices. 

Now,  in  the  rear  of  the  jesters'  pavilion,  his  face 


156  UNDERTHEROSE 

was  yellow  with  trepidation,  as  the  armorer  buckled  on 
the  iron  plates  about  his  stunted  figure,  fastening  and 
riveting  them  in  such  manner,  he  mentally  concluded 
he  should  never  emerge  from  that  frightful  shell. 

"The  worst  of  it  is,"  dryly  remarked  the  hunchback's 
valet  as  he  briskly  plied  his  little  hammer,  "these 
clothes  are  so  heavy  you  couldn't  run  away  if  you 
wanted  to." 

"Oh,  that  the  duke  were  married  and  out  of  the 
kingdom!"  Triboulet  fervently  wished,  and  the  fiery 
comments  of  Marot,  Villot  and  those  other  reckless 
spirits,  who  seemed  to  mind  no  more  the  prospect  of 
being  spitted  on  a  lance  than  if  it  were  but  a  novel  and 
not  unpleasant  experience  to  look  forward  to,  in  no 
wise  served  to  assuage  his  heart-sinking. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  pavilion  stood  Caillette,  who 
had  watched  the  passing  of  Bon  Vouloir  and  now  was 
gazing  upward  into  a  sea  of  faces  from  whence  came 
a  hum  of  voices  like  the  buzzing  of  unnumbered  bees. 

"Certes,"  he  commented,  "the  king  makes  much  of 
this  unmannered,  lumpish,  beer-drinking  noble  who 
is  going  to  wed  the  princess." 

"Caillette,"  said  the  low  voice  of  the  duke's  jester 
at  his  elbow,  "would  you  see  a  woman  undone  ?" 

"Why,  mon  ami,"  lightly  answered  the  French  fool, 
"I've  seen  many  undone — by  themselves." 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  157 

"Ah,"  returned  the  other,  "I  appeal  to  your  chivalry, 
and  you  answer  with  a  jest." 

"How  else,"  asked  Caillette,  with  a  peculiar  smile 
that  was  at  once  sweet  and  mournful,  "can  one  take 
woman,  save  as  a  jest — a  pleasant  mockery?" 

"Your  irony  precludes  the  test  of  friendship — the 
service  I  was  about  to  ask  of  you,"  retorted  the  duke's 
fool,  gravely. 

"Test  of  friendship !"  exclaimed  the  poet.  "  Tis 
the  only  thing  I  believe  in.  Love!  What  is  it?  A 
flame  !  a  breath !  Look  out  there — at  the  flatterers  and 
royal  sycophants.  Those  are  your  emissaries  of  love. 
Ye  gods!  into  the  breasts  of  what  jack-a-dandies  and 
parasites  has  descended  the  unquenchable  fire  of  Jove ! 
Now  as  for  comradeship" — placing  his  hand  affection- 
ately on  the  other's  shoulder — "by  Castor  and  Pollux, 
and  all  the  other  inseparables,  'tis  another  thing.  But 
expound  this  strange  anomaly — a  woman  wronged. 
Who  is  the  woman?" 

"The  Princess  Louise !" 

Caillette  glanced  from  the  place  where  he  stood  to 
the  center  of  the  stand  and  the  white  bower,  inclin- 
ing from  which  was  a  woman,  haughty,  fair,  beautiful ; 
one  whose  face  attracted  the  attention  of  the  multi- 
tude and  who  seemed  not  unhappy  in  being  thus 
scrutinized  and  admired.  Shaking  his  head  slowly, 


t$8  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

the  court  poet  dropped  his  eyes  and  studied  the  sand 
at  his  feet. 

"She  looks  not  wronged,"  he  said,  dryly.  "She  ap- 
pears to  enjoy  her  triumphs." 

"And  yet,  Caillette,  'tis  all  a  farce,"  answered  the 
duke's  jester. 

"So  have  I — thought — on  other  occasions." 

And  again  his  gaze  flew  upward,  not,  however,  to 
the  lady  whom  Francis  had  gallantly  chosen  for  Queen 
of  Beauty,  but,  despite  his  alleged  cynicism,  to  a  cor- 
ner of  the  king's  own  box,  where  sat  she  who  had 
once  been  a  laughing  maid  by  his  side  and  with  whom 
he  had  played  that  diverting  pastoral,  called  "First 
Love."  It  was  only  an  instant's  return  into  the  far- 
cical but  joyous  past,  and  a  moment  later  he  was  sharp- 
ly recalled  into  the  arid  present  by  the  words  of  his 
companion. 

"The  man  the  Princess  Louise  is  going  to  marry  is 
no  more  Robert,  the  Duke  of  Friedwald,  than  you 
are!"  exclaimed  the  foreign  fool.  "He  is  the  bastard 
of  Pfalz-Urfeld,  the  so-called  free  baron  of  Hochfels. 
His  castle  commands  the  road  between  the  true  duke 
and  Francis'  domains.  He  made  himself  master  of 
all  the  correspondence,  conceived  the  plan  to  come 
here  himself  and  intends  to  carry  off  the  true  lord's 
bride.  Indeed,  in  private,  he  has  acknowledged  it  all 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  159 

to  me,  and,  failing  to  corrupt  me  to  his  service,  last 
night  set  an  assassin  to  kill  me." 

His  listener,  with  folded  arms  and  attentive  mien, 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  steadily  upon  the  narrator,  as  if  he 
doubted  the  evidence  of  his  senses.  Without,  the 
marshals  had  taken  their  places  in  the  lists  and  another 
stentorian  dissonance  greeted  these  officers  of  the  field 
from  the  good-humored  gathering,  which,  basking  in 
the  anticipation  of  the  feast  they  knew  would  follow 
the  pageantry,  clapped  their  hands  and  flung  up  their 
caps  at  the  least  provocation  for  rejoicing.  Upon 
the  two  jesters  this  scene  of  jubilation  was  lost,  Cail- 
lette  merely  bending  closer  to  the  other,  with : 

"But  why  have  you  not  denounced  him  to  the 
king?" 

"Because  of  my  foolhardiness  in  tacitly  accepting  at 
first  this  free-booter  as  my  master." 

Caillette  shot  a  keen  glance  at  the  other  and  smiled. 
His  eyes  said:  "Foolhardiness!  Was  it  not,  rather, 
some  other  emotion?  Had  not  the  princess  leaned 
more  than  graciously  toward  her  betrothed  and — " 

"I  thought  him  but  some  flimsy  adventurer,"  went 
on  the  duke's  fool,  hastily,  "and  told  myself  I  would 
see  the  play  played  out,  holding  the  key  to  the  situa- 
tion, and — " 

"You  underestimated  him?" 


160  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Exactly.  His  plans  were  cunningly  laid,  and  now 
— who  am  I  that  the  king  should  listen  to  me?  At 
best,  if  I  denounce  him,  they  would  probably  consider 
it  a  bit  of  pleasantry,  or — madness." 

"Yes,"  reluctantly  assented  Caillette,  Triboulet's 
words,  "a  fool  in  love  with  the  princess !"  recurring 
to  him ;  "it  would  be  undoubtedly  even  as  you  say." 

The  duke's  jester  looked  down  thoughtfully.  He 
had  only  half-expressed  to  the  French  plaisant  the 
doubts  which  had  assailed  him  since  his  interview  with 
Louis  of  Hochfels.  Who  could  read  the  minds  of 
monarchs  ?  The  motives  actuating  them  ?  Should  he 
be  able  to  convince  Francis  of  the  deception  practised 
upon  him,  was  it  altogether  unlikely  that  the  king 
might  not  be  brought  to  condone  the  offense  for  the 
sake  of  an  alliance  with  this  bastard  of  Pfalz-Urfeld 
and  the  other  unconquerable  free  barons  of  the  Aus- 
trian border  against  Charles  himself  ?  Had  not  Fran- 
cis in  the  past,  albeit  openly  friendly  with  the  emperor,, 
secretly  courted  the  favor  of  the  powerful  German 
nobles  in  Charles'  own  country?  Had  not  his  cove- 
nant with  the  infidel,  Solyman,  been  a  covert  attempt 
to  undermine  the  emperor's  power? 

From  the  day  when,  as  young  men,  both  had  been 
aspirants  for  the  imperial  throne  of  Germany  and 
Francis  had  suffered  defeat,  the  latter  had  assiduously 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  161 

devoted  himself  to  the  retributory  task  of  gaining  the 
ascendancy  over  his  successful  rival.  And  now,  al- 
though the  tempering  years  had  assuaged  their  erst- 
while passions  and  each  had  professed  to  eschew  war 
and  its  violence,  might  not  this  temptation  prove  too 
great  for  Francis  to  resist  a  last  blow  at  the  emperor's 
prestige?  How  easy  to  affect  disbelief  of  a  fool,  to 
overthrow  the  fabric  of  friendship  between  Charles 
and  himself,  and  at  the  same  time  apparently  not  vio- 
late good  faith  or  conscience ! 

The  voice  of  Caillette  broke  in  upon  his  thoughts. 

"You  will  not  then  attempt  to  denounce  him?" 

The  fool  hesitated.  "Alone — out  of  favor  with  the 
king,  I  like  not  to  risk  the  outcome — but — if  I  may 
depend  upon  you — " 

"Did  ever  friend  refuse  such  a  call?"  exclaimed 
Caillette,  promptly.  A  quick  glance  of  gratitude 
flashed  from  the  other's  eyes. 

"There  is  one  flaw  in  the  free  baron's  position,"  re- 
sumed the  duke's  fool,  more  confidently;  "a  fatal  one 
'twill  prove,  if  it  is  possible  to  carry  out  my  plans. 
He  thinks  the  emperor  is  in  Austria,  and  his  followers 
guard  the  road  through  the  mountains.  He  tells  him- 
self not  only  are  the  emperor  and  the  Duke  of  Fried- 
wald  too  far  distant  to  hear  of  the  pretender  and  in- 
terfere with  the  nuptials,  but  that  he  obviates  even 


162  UNDERTHEROSE 

the  contingency  of  their  learning  of  that  matter  at 
all  by  controlling  the  way  through  which  the  messen- 
gers must  go.  Thus  rests  he  in  double  security — but 
an  imaginary  one." 

"What  mean  you  ?"  asked  Caillette,  attentively,  from 
his  manner  giving  fuller  credence  to  the  extraordinary 
news  he  had  just  learned. 

"That  Charles,  the  emperor,  is  not  in  Austria,  but 
in  Aragon  at  Saragossa,  where  he  can  be  reached  in 
time  to  prevent  the  marriage.  Just  before  my  leaving, 
the  emperor,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  secretly  depart- 
ed for  Spain  on  matters  pertaining  to  the  governing 
of  Aragon.  Charles  plays  a  deep  game  in  the  affairs 
of  Europe,  though  he  works  ever  silently  and  unob- 
trusively. Is  he  not  always  beforehand  with  your 
king?  When  Francis  was  preparing  the  gorgeous 
field  of  the  cloth  of  gold  for  his  English  brother,  did 
not  Charles  quietly  leave  for  the  little  isle,  and  there, 
without  beat  of  drum,  arrange  his  own  affairs  before 
Henry  was  even  seen  by  your  pleasure-loving  mon- 
arch? Yes;  to  the  impostor  and  to  Francis,  Charles 
is  in  Austria ;  to  us — for  now  you  share  my  secret — is 
he  in  Spain,  where  by  swift  riding  he  may  be  found, 
and  yet  interdict  in  this  matter." 

"Then  why — haven't  you  ere  this  fled  to  the  em- 
peror with  the  news?" 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  163 

"Last  night  I  had  determined  to  get  away,  when 
first  I  was  assaulted  by  an  assassin  of  the  impostor, 
and  next  detained  by  his  troop  and  brought  back  to 
the  castle.  I  had  even  left  on  foot,  trusting  to  excite 
less  suspicion,  and  hoping  to  find  a  horse  on  the  way, 
but  fortune  was  with  the  pretender.  So  here  am  I, 
closely  watched — and  waiting,"  he  added  grimly. 

The  listener's  demeanor  was  imperturbability  itself. 
He  knew  why  the  other  had  taken  him  into  his  confi- 
dence, and  understood  the  silent  appeal  as  plainly  as 
though  words  had  uttered  it.  Perhaps  he  duly 
weighed  the  perils  of  a  flight  without  permission  from 
the  court  of  the  exacting  and  capricious  monarch,  and 
considered  the  hazards  of  the  trip  itself  through  a  wild 
and  brigand-infested  country.  Possibly,  the  thought 
of  the  princess  moved  him,  for  despite  his  irony,  it 
was  his  mocking  fate  to  entertain  in  his  breast,  against 
his  will,  a  covert  sympathy  for  the  gentler  sex;  or, 
looking  into  the  passionate  face  of  his  companion,  he 
may  have  been  conscious  of  some  bond  of  brother- 
hood, a  fellow-feeling  that  could  not  resist  the  call 
upon  his  good-will  and  amicable  efforts.  The  indif- 
ference faded  from  Caillette's  face  and  almost  a  boyish 
enthusiasm  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"Mon  ami,  I'll  do  it!"  he  exclaimed,  lightly.  "I'll 
ride  to  the  emperor  for  you." 


164  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

Silently  the  jester  of  the  duke  wrung  his  hand. 
"I've  long  sighed  for  an  adventure,"  laughed  Cail- 
lette.  "And  here  is  the  opportunity.  Caillette,  a 
knight-errant!  But" — his  face  falling — "the  emperor 
will  look  on  me  as  a  madman." 

"Nay,"  replied  the  duke's  plaisant,  "here  is  a  letter. 
When  he  reads  it  he  will,  at  least,  think  the  affair 
worth  consideration.  He  knows  me,  and  trusts  my 
fidelity,  and  will  be  assured  I  would  not  jest  on  such 
a  serious  matter.  Believe  me,  he  will  receive  you  as 
more  than  a  madman." 

"Why,  then,  'twill  be  a  rare  adventure,"  commented 
the  other.  "Wandering  in  the  country;  the  beautiful 
country,  where  I  was  reared ;  away  from  the  madness 
of  courts.  Already  I  hear  the  wanton  breezes  sighing 
in  Sapphic  softness  and  the  forests'  elegiac  murmur. 
Tell  me,  how  shall  I  ride?" 

"As  a  knight  to  the  border ;  thence  onward  as  a  min- 
strel. In  Spain  there's  always  a  welcome  for  a  blithe 
singer." 

"  'Tis  fortunate  I  learned  some  Spanish  love  songs 
from  a  fair  sefiora  who  was  in  Charles'  retinue  the 
time  he  visited  Francis,"  added  Caillette.  "An  I 
should  fail?"  he  continued,  more  gravely. 

"You  will  not  fail,"  was  the  confident  reply. 

"I  am  of  your  mind,  but  things  will  happen — some- 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  165 

times — and  why  do  you  not  speak  to  the  princess  her- 
self— to  warn  her — " 

"Speak  to  her !"  repeated  the  duke's  jester,  a  shadow 
on  his  brow.  "When  he  has  appealed  to  her,  perhaps 
— when — "  He  broke  off  abruptly.  His  tone  was 
proud;  in  his  eyes  a  look  which  Caillette  afterward 
understood.  As  it  was,  the  latter  nodded  his  head 
wisely. 

"A  woman  whose  fancy  is  touched  is — what  she  is," 
he  commented,  generally.  "Truly  it  would  be  a  more 
thankless  task,  even,  than  approaching  the  king.  For 
women  were  ever  creatures  of  caprice,  not  to  be  gov- 
erned by  any  court  of  logic,  but  by  the  whimsical,  fan- 
tastic rules  of  Marguerite's  court.  Court!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "The  word  suggests  law;  reason;  where 
merit  hath  justice.  Call  it  not  Love's  Court,  but  love's 
caprice,  or  crochet.  But  look  you,  there's  another 
channel  to  the  princess'  mind — yonder  black-browed 
maid — our  ally  in  motley — when  she  chooses  to  wear 
it — Jacqueline." 

"She  likes  me  not,"  returned  the  fool.  "Would 
she  believe  me  in  such  an  important  matter?" 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  tranquilly  replied  Caillette,  "in 
view  of  the  improbability  of  your  tale  and  the  un- 
doubted credentials  held  by  this  pretender.  For  my 
part,  to  look  at  the  fellow  was  almost  enough.  But  to 


i66  UNDERTHEROSE 

the  ladies,  his  brutality  signifieth  strength  and  power ; 
and  his  uncouthness,  originality  and  genius.  Mar- 
guerite, even,  is  prepossessed  in  his  favor  and  has  writ- 
ten a  platonic  poem  in  his  honor.  As  for  the  prin- 
cess"— pressing  the  other's  arm  gently — "do  you  not 
know,  mon  ami,  that  women  are  all  alike?  There  is 
but  one  they  obey — the  king — that  is  as  high  as  their 
ambitions  can  reach — and  even  him  they  deceive. 
Why,  the  Countess  d'Etampes — but  this  is  no  time  for 
gossip.  We  are  fools,  you  and  I,  and  love,  my  friend, 
is  but  broad  farce  at  the  best." 

Even  as  he  spoke  thus,  however,  from  the  lists  came 
the  voices  of  the  well-instructed  heralds,  secretaries 
of  the  occasion,  who  had  delved  deeply  into  the  prac- 
tices of  the  merry  and  ancient  pastime:  "Love  of 
ladies!  For  you  and  glory!  Chivalry  but  fights  for 
love.  Look  down,  fair  eyes!"  a  peroration  which 
was  answered  with  many  pieces  of  silver  from  the  gal- 
leries above,  and  which  the  gorgeously  dressed  offi- 
cials readily  unbent  to  gather.  Among  the  fair  hands 
which  rewarded  this  perfunctory  apostrophe  to  the 
tender  passion  none  was  more  lavish  in  offerings  than 
those  matrons  and  maids  in  the  vicinity  of  the  king. 
A  satirical  smile  again  marred  Caillette's  face,  but  he 
kept  his  reflections  to  himself,  reverting  to  the  busi- 
ness of  the  moment. 


A    NEW    MESSENGER  167 

"I  should  be  off  at  once !"  he  cried.  "But  what  can 
we  do?  The  king  hath  commanded  all  the  jesters 
to  appear  in  the  tournament  to-day,  properly  armed 
and  armored,  the  better  to  make  sprightlier  sport  amid 
the  ponderous  pastime  of  the  knights.  Here  am  I 
bound  to  shine  on  horseback,  willy-nilly.  Yet  this 
matter  of  yours  is  pressing.  Stay !  I  have  it.  I  can 
e'en  fall  from  my  horse,  by  a  ruse,  retire  from  the 
field,  and  fly  southward." 

"Then  will  I  wish  you  Godspeed,  now,"  said  the 
duke's  fool.  "Never  was  a  stancher  heart  than  thine, 
Caillette,  or  a  truer  friend." 

"One  word,"  returned  the  other,  not  without  a  trace 
of  feeling  which  even  his  cynicism  could  not  hide. 
"Beware  of  the  false  duke  in  the  arena!  It  will  be 
his  opportunity  to — " 

"I  understand,"  answered  the  duke's  fool,  again 
warmly  pressing  Caillette's  hand,  "but  with  the  knowl- 
edge you  are  fleeing  to  Spain  I  have  no  fear  for  the 
future.  If  we  meet  not  after  to-day — " 

"Why,  life's  but  a  span,  and  our  friendship  has  been 
short,  but  sweet,"  added  the  other. 

Now  without  sounded  a  flourish  of  trumpets  and 
every  glance  was  expectantly  down-turned  from  the 
crowded  stand,  as  with  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  waving 


i68 


of  plumes  France's  young  chivalry  dashed  into  the 
lists,  divided  into  two  parties,  took  their  respective 
places  and,  at  a  signal  from  the  musicians,  started  im- 
petuously against  one  another. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE  DUKE  ENTERS   THE   LISTS 

In  that  first  "joyous  and  gentle  passage  of  arms," 
wherein  the  weapons  were  those  "of  courtesy,"  their 
points  covered  with  small  disks,  several  knights  broke 
their  lances  fairly,  two  horsemen  of  the  side  wear- 
ing red  plumes  became  unseated,  and  their  opponents, 
designated  as  the  "white  plumes,"  swept  on  intact. 

"Well  done!"  commented  the  king  from  his  high 
tribunal,  as  the  squires  and  attendants  began  to  clear 
the  lists,  assisting  the  fallen  belligerents  to  their  tents. 
"We  shall  have  another  such  memorable  field  as  that 
of  Ashby-de-la-Zouch !" 

The  following  just,  reduced  to  six  combatants, 
three  of  the  red  plumes  and  three  of  the  white,  was 
even  yet  more  spirited  than  the  first  tilt,  for  the  for- 
mer trio  couched  their  lances  with  the  determination 
to  retrieve  the  day  for  their  party.  In  this  encounter 
two  of  the  whites  were  unhorsed,  thus  placing  the  con- 
tention once  more  on  an  equal  basis,  while  in  the  third 

169 


i;o  UNDERTHEROSE 

conflict  the  whites  again  suffered  similar  disaster,  and 
but  one  remained  to  redeem  his  party's  lapse  from  an 
advantage  gained  in  the  opening  combat. 
\  All  eyes  were  now  fastened  upon  this  single  remnant 
of  the  white  fellowship  in  arms,  who,  to  wrest  victory 
from  defeat,  became  obliged  to  overcome  each  in  turn 
of  the  trio  of  reds,  a  formidable  task  for  one  who  had 
already  been  successful  in  three  stubborn  matches.  It 
was  a  hero-making  opportunity,  but,  alas !  for  the  last 
of  the  little  white  company.  Like  many  another,  he 
made  a  brave  dash  for  honor  and  the  "bubble  reputa- 
tion" ;  the  former  slipped  tantalizingly  from  his  grasp, 
and  the  latter  burst  and  all  its  pretty  colors  dissolved 
in  thin  air.  Now  he  lay  still  on  the  sands  and  the 
king  only  remarked: 
;  "Certes,  he  possessed  courage." 

And  the  words  sounded  like  an  epitaph,  a  not  in- 
glorious one,  although  the  hand  that  gripped  the  lance 
had  failed.  The  defeated  champion  was  removed; 
the  opportunity  had  passed;  the  multitude  stoically 
accepted  the  lame  and  impotent  conclusion,  and  the 
tournament  proceeded. 

Event  followed  event,  and  those  court  ladies  who 
at  first  had  professed  their  nerves  were  weaker  than 
their  foremothers'  now  watched  the  arena  with  spark- 
ling eyes,  no  longer  turning  away  at  the  thrilling  mo- 


DUKE   ENTERS   THE   LISTS     171 

ment  of  contact.  Taking  their  cue  from  the  king, 
they  were  lavish  in  praise  and  generous  in  approval, 
and  at  an  unusual  exhibition  of  skill  the  stand  grew 
bright  with  waving  scarfs  and  handkerchiefs.  Si- 
multaneous with  such  an  animated  demonstration  from 
the  galleries  would  come  a  roar  of  approval  from  the 
peasantry  below,  crowded  where  best  they  could  find 
places,  bespeaking  for  their  part,  likewise,  an  in- 
creasing lust  for  the  stirring  pastime. 

In  truth,  the  only  dissatisfied  onlookers  were  the 
quick-fingered  spoilers  and  rovers  who,  packed  as 
close  as  dried  dates  in  a  basket  by  the  irresistible  for- 
ward press  of  the  people,  found  themselves  suddenly 
occupationless,  without  power  to  move  their  arms,  or 
ply  their  hands.  Thus  held  in  a  mighty  compress, 
temporary  prisoners  with  their  spoils  in  their  pock- 
ets, and  cheap  jewelry  shining  enticingly  all  about 
them,  they  were  obliged  for  the  time  to  comport  them- 
selves like  honest  citizens.  But,  although  their 
bodies  were  in  durance  vile,  their  eyes  could  roam 
covetously  to  a  showy  trinket  on  the  broad  bosom  of 
some  buxom  good-wife,  or  a  gewgaw  that  hung  from 
the  neck  of  a  red-cheeked  lass. 

J  "Ha!"  muttered  the  scamp-student  to  his  good 
spouse,  "here  are  all  the  jolly  boys  immersed  to  their 
necks,  like  prisoners  buried  in  the  sand  by  the  Arabs." 


172  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Hush !"  she  whispered,  warningly.  "See  you  yon- 
der— the  duke's  fool;  he  wears  the  arms  of  Charles, 
the  emperor." 

"And  there's  the  Duke  of  Friedwald  himself,"  an- 
swered the  ragged  scholar.  "Look!  the  jesters  are 
going  to  fight.  They  have  arranged  them  in  two  par- 
ties. Half  of  them  go  with  the  duke  and  his  knights ; 
the  other  half  with  his  Lordship's  opponents." 

"But  the  duke's  fool,  by  chance,  is  set  against  his 
master,"  she  mumbled,  significantly. 

"Call  you  it  chance?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  and 
Nanette  nudged  him  angrily  in  the  side  with  her  el- 
bow, so  that  he  cried  out,  and  attention  would  have 
been  called  to  them  but  for  a  ripple  of  laughter  which 
started  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd  and  was  taken  up 
by  the  serried  ranks. 

"Ho !  ho !  Look  at  Triboulet !"  shouted  the  delight- 
ed populace.  "Ah,  the  droll  fellow !" 

All  eyes  were  now  bent  to  the  arena,  where,  on 
a  powerful  nag,  sat  perched  the  misshapen  jester. 
With  whip  and  spur  he  was  vehemently  plying  a  horse 
that  stubbornly  stood  as  motionless  as  carven  stone. 
Thinking  at  the  last  moment  of  a  plan  for  escape  from 
the  dangerous  features  of  the  tourney,  the  hunchback 
had  bribed  one  of  the  attendants  to  fetch  him  a  steed 
which  for  sullen  obduracy  surpassed  any  charger  in 


DUKE    ENTERS   THE   LISTS     173 

the  king's  stables.  Fate,  he  was  called,  because  noth- 
ing could  move  or  change  him,  and  now,  with  head 
pushed  forward  and  ears  thrust  back,  he  proved  him- 
self beneath  the  blows  and  spurring  of  the  seemingly 
excited  rider,  worthy  of  this  appellation. 

"Go  on,  Fate ;  go  on !"  exclaimed  the  apparently 
angry  dwarf.  "Will  you  be  balky  now,  when  Tribou- 
let  has  glory  within  his  grasp  ?  Miserable  beast !  un- 
happy fate!  When  bright  eyes  are  watching  the 
great  Triboulet !" 

If  not  destined  to  score  success  with  his  lance,  the 
dwarf  at  least  had  won  a  victory  through  his  comical 
situation  and  ready  wit.  Fair  ladies  forgot  his  ugli- 
ness ;  the  pages  his  ill-humor ;  the  courtiers  his  vin- 
dictive slyness ;  the  monarch  the  disappointment  of  his 
failure  to  worst  the  duke's  fool,  and  all  applauded  the 
ludicrous  figure,  shouting,  waving  his  arms,  struggling 
with  inexorable  destiny.  Finally,  in  despair,  his  hands 
fell  to  his  side. 

"Oh,  resistless  necessity!"  he  cried.  But  in  his 
heart  he  said:  "It  is  well.  I  am  as  safe  as  on  a 
wooden  horse.  Here  I  stand.  Let  others  have  their 
heads  split  or  their  bodies  broken.  Triboulet,  like  the 
gods,  views  the  carnage  from  afar." 

While  this  bit  of  unexpected  comedy  riveted  the  at- 
tention of  the  spectators  the  duke  and  his  followers 


174  UNDERTHEROSE 

had  slowly  ridden  to  their  side  of  the  inclosure.  Here 
hovered  the  squires,  adjusting  a  stirrup,  giving  a  last 
turn  to  a  strap,  or  testing  a  bridle  or  girth.  Behind 
stood  the  heralds,  trumpeters  and  pursuivants  in  their 
bright  garb  of  office.  At  his  own  solicitation  had  the 
duke  been  assigned  an  active  part  in  the  day's  enter- 
tainment. The  king,  fearing  for  the  safety  of  his 
guest  and  the  possible  postponement  of  the  marriage 
should  any  injury  befall  him,  had  sought  to  dissuade 
him  from  his  purpose,  but  the  other  had  laughed 
boisterously  at  the  monarch's  fears  and  sworn  he 
would  break  a  lance  for  his  lady  love  that  day. 
Francis,  too  gallant  a  knight  himself  to  interpose  fur- 
ther objection  to  an  announcement  so  in  keeping  with 
the  traditions  of  the  lists,  thereupon  had  ordered  the 
best  charger  in  his  stables  to  be  placed  at  the  disposal 
of  the  princess'  betrothed,  and  again  nodded  his  ap- 
probation upon  the  appearance  of  the  duke  in  the 
ring.  But  at  least  one  person  in  that  vast  assemblage 
was  far  from  sharing  the  monarch's  complaisant  mood. 
If  the  mind  of  the  duke's  fool  had  heretofore  been 
filled  with  bitterness  upon  witnessing  festal  honors  to 
a  mere  presumptuous  free  baron,  what  now  were  his 
emotions  at  the  reception  accorded  him?  From  king 
to  churl  was  he  a  gallant  noble;  he,  a  swaggerer,  ill- 
born,  a  terrorist  of  mountain  passes.  Even  as  the 


DUKE   ENTERS   THE   LISTS     175 

irony  of  the  demonstration  swept  over  the  jester,  from 
above  fell  a  flower,  white  as  the  box  from  whence  it 
was  wafted.  Downward  it  fluttered,  a  messenger  of 
amity,  like  a  dove  to  his  gauntlet.  And  with  the  favor 
went  a  smile  from  the  Lady  of  the  Lists.  But  while 
Bon  Vouloir  stood  there,  the  symbol  in  his  hand  and 
the  applause  ringing  in  his  ears,  into  the  tenor  of 
his  thoughts,  the  consciousness  of  partly  gratified  am- 
bition, there  crept  an  insinuating  warning  of  danger. 

"My  Lord,"  said  the  trooper  with  the  red  mustache, 
riding  by  the  side  of  his  master,  "the  fool  is  plotting 
further  mischief." 

"What  mean  you?"  asked  the  free  baron,  frowning, 
as  he  turned  toward  his  side  of  the  field. 

"Go  slowly,  my  Lord,  and  I  will  tell  you.  I  saw  the 
fool  and  another  jester  with  their  heads  together," 
continued  the  trooper  in  a  low  tone.  "They  were 
standing  in  front  of  the  jesters'  tent.  You  bade  me 
watch  him.  So  I  entered  their  pavilion  at  the  back. 
Making  pretext  to  be  looking  for  a  gusset  for  an  ar- 
mor joint,  I  made  my  way  near  the  entrance.  There, 
bending  over  barbet  pieces,  I  overheard  fragments  of 
their  conversation.  It  even  bore  on  your  designs." 

"A  conversation  on  my  designs!  He  has  then 
dared—" 


176  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"All,  my  Lord.  A  scheming  knave!  After  I  had 
heard  enough,  I  gathered  up  a  skirt  of  tassets — " 

"What  did  you  hear  ?"  said  the  other,  impatiently. 

"A  plan  by  which  he  hoped  to  let  the  emperor 
know — " 

A  loud  flourish  of  trumpets  near  them  interrupted 
the  free  baron's  informer,  and  when  the  clarion  tones 
had  ceased  it  was  the  master  who  spoke.  "There's 
time  but  for  a  word  now.  Come  to  my  tent  after- 
ward. Meanwhile,"  he  went  on,  hurriedly,  "direct  a 
lance  at  the  fool — " 

"But,  my  Lord,"  expostulated  the  man,  quickly,  "the 
jesters  only  are  to  oppose  one  another." 

"It  will  pass  for  an  accident.  Francis  likes  him 
not,  and  will  clear  you  of  unknightly  conduct,  if — " 
He  finished  with  a  boldly  significant  look,  which  was 
not  lost  upon  his  man. 

"Even  if  the  leaden  disk  should  fall  from  my  lance 
and  leave  the  point  bare?"  said  the  trooper,  hoarsely. 

"Even  that !"  responded  the  free  baron,  hastily. 

"Laissez-aller!"  cried  the  marshals,  giving  the  sig- 
nal to  begin. 

Above,  in  her  white  box,  the  princess  turned  pale. 
With  bated  breath  and  parted  lips,  she  watched  the 
lines  sweep  forward,  and,  like  two  great  waves  meet- 
ing, collide  with  a  crash.  The  dust  that  arose  seemed 


DUKE   ENTERS   THE   LISTS     177 

an  all-enshrouding  mist.  Beneath  it  the  figures  ap- 
peared, vague,  undefined,  in  a  maze  of  uncertainty. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Louise,  striving  to  penetrate  the 
cloud;  "he  is  victorious!" 

"They  have  killed  him !"  said  Jacqueline,  at  the  same 
time  staring  toward  another  part  of  the  field. 

"Killed  him! — what — "  began  the  princess,  now 
rosy  with  excitement. 

"No;  he  has  won,"  added  the  maid,  in  the  next 
breath,  as  a  portion  of  the  obscuring  mantle  was 
swept  aside. 

"Of  course!  Where  are  your  eyes?"  rejoined  her 
mistress  triumphantly.  "The  duke  is  one  of  the  em- 
peror's greatest  knights." 

"In  this  case,  Madam,  it  is  but  natural  your  sight 
should  be  better  than  my  own,"  half-mockingly  re- 
turned the  maid. 

And,  in  truth,  the  princess  was  right,  for  the  king's 
guest,  through  overwhelming  strength  and  greater 
momentum,  had  lightly  plucked  from  his  seat  a  stal- 
wart adversary.  Others  of  his  following  failed  not 
in  the  "attaint,"  and  horses  and  troopers  floundered 
in  the  sand.  Apart  from  the  duke's  victory,  two  es- 
pecial incidents,  one  comic,  stood  out  in  the  confused 
picture. 

That  which  partook  of  the  humorous  aspect,  and 


178  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

was  seen  and  appreciated  by  all,  had  for  its  central 
figure  an  unwilling  actor,  the  king's  hunchback.  Like 
the  famous  steed  builded  by  the  Greeks,  Triboulet's 
"wooden  horse"  contained  unknown  elements  of  dan- 
ger, and  even  while  the  jester  was  congratulating  him- 
self upon  absolute  immunity  from  peril  the  nag  started 
and  quivered.  At  the  flourish  of  the  brass  instru- 
ments his  ears,  that  had  lain  back,  were  now  pricked 
forward ;  he  had  once,  in  his  palmy,  coltish  time,  been 
a  battle  charger,  and,  perhaps,  some  memory  of  those 
martial  days,  the  waving  of  plumes  and  the  clashing 
of  arms,  reawoke  his  combative  spirit  of  old.  Or, 
possibly  his  brute  intelligence  penetrated  the  dwarf's 
knavish  pusillanimity,  and,  changing  his  tactics  that 
he  might  still  range  on  the  side  of  perversity,  resolved 
himself  from  immobility  into  a  rampant  agency  of  mo- 
tion. Furiously  he  dashed  into  the  thick  of  the  con- 
flict, and  Triboulet,  paralyzed  with  fear  and  dropping 
his  lance,  was  borne  helplessly  onward,  execrating  the 
nag  and  his  capricious  humor. 

.  Opposed  to  the  hunchback  rode  Villot,  who,  upon 
reaching  the  dwarf  and  observing  his  predicament, 
good-naturedly  turned  aside  his  point,  but  was  un- 
able to  avoid  striking  him  with  the  handle  as  he  rode 
by.  To  Triboulet  that  blow,  reechoing  in  the  hollow 
depths  of  his  steel  shell,  sounded  like  the  dissolution 


DUKE   ENTERS   THE   LISTS      179 

of  the  universe,  and,  not  doubting  his  last  moment  had 
come,  mechanically  he  fell  to  earth,  abandoning-  to  its 
own  resources  the  equine  Fate  that  had  served  him  so 
ill.  Striking  the  ground,  and,  still  finding  conscious- 
ness had  not  deserted  him,  instinct  prompted  him  to 
demonstrate  that  if  his  armor  was  too  heavy  for  him 
to  run  away  in,  as  the  smithy-valet  de  chambre  had 
significantly  affirmed,  yet  he  possessed  the  undoubted 
strength  and  ability  to  crawl.  Thus,  amid  the  guf- 
faws of  the  peasantry  and  the  smiles  of  the  nobles,  he 
swiftly  scampered  from  beneath  the  horses'  feet,  hur- 
riedly left  the  scene  of  strife,  and  finally  reached  tri- 
umphantly the  haven  of  his  tent. 

The  other  incident,  witnessed  by  Jacqueline,  was  of 
a  more  serious  nature.  As  the  lines  swept  together, 
with  the  dust  rising  before,  she  perceived  that  the 
duke's  trooper  had  swerved  from  his  course  and  was 
bearing  down  upon  the  duke's  fool. 

"Oh,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  "the  master  now 
retaliates  on  the  jester."  And  held  her  breath. 

Had  he,  too,  observed  these  sudden  perfidious  tac- 
tics? Apparently.  Yet  he  seemed  not  to  shun  the 
issue 

"Why  does  he  not  turn  aside?"  thought  the  maid. 
"He  might  yet  do  it.  A  fool  and  a  knight,  forsooth !" 

But  the  fool  pricked  his  horse  deeply;  it  sprang  to 


l8o  UNDERTHEROSE 

the  struggle  madly ;  crash  !  like  a  thunderbolt,  steed 
and  rider  leaped  upon  the  trooper.  Then  it  was 
Jacqueline  had  murmured:  "They  have  killed 
him!"  not  doubting  for  a  moment  but  that  he  had 
sped  to  destruction. 

A  second  swift  glance,  and  through  the  veil,  less 
obscure,  she  saw  the  jester  riding,  unharmed,  his 
lance  unbroken.  Had  he  escaped,  after  all?  And 
the  trooper?  He  lay  among  the  trampling  horses' 
feet.  She  saw  him  now.  How  had  it  all  come 
about?  Her  mind  was  bewildered,  but  in  spite  of 
the  princess'  assertion  to  the  contrary,  her  sight 
seemed  unusually  clear. 

"Good  lance,  fool!"  cried  a  voice  from  the  king's 
box. 

"The  jester  rides  well,"  said  another.  "The 
knight's  lance  even  passed  over  his  head,  while  the 
fool's  struck  fairly  with  terrific  force." 

"But  why  did  he  select  the  jester  as  an  adversary  ?" 
continued  the  first  speaker. 

"Mistakes  will  happen  in  the  confusion  of  a  melte 
— and  he  has  paid  for  his  error,"  was  the  answer. 
And  Jacqueline  knew  that  none  would  be  held  ac- 
countable for  the  treacherous  assault. 

Now  the  foo  had  dismounted  and  she  observed  that 
he  was  bending  over  another  jester  who  had  been  un- 


DUKE   ENTERS   THE   LISTS     181 

horsed.  "Why,"  she  murmured  to  herself  in  sur- 
prise, "Caillette!  As  good  a  soldier  as  a  fool.  Who 
among  the  jesters  could  have  unseated  him?" 

But  her  wonderment  would  have  increased,  could 
she  have  overheard  the  conversation  between  the 
duke's  fool  and  Caillette,  as  the  former  lifted  the  other 
from  the  sands  and  assisted  him  to  walk,  or  rather 
limp,  to  the  jesters'  pavilion. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you  to  beware  of  the  false  duke?" 
muttered  Caillette,  not  omitting  a  parenthesis  of  de- 
ceptive groans. 

"Ah,  if  it  had  only  been  he,  instead,"  began  the 
fool. 

"Why,"  interrupted  the  seemingly  injured  man, 
"think  you  to  stand  up  against  the  boar  of  Hochf els  ?" 

"I  would  I  might  try !"  said  the  other  quickly. 

"Your  success  with  the  trooper  has  turned  your 
head,"  laughed  Caillette,  softly.  "One  last  word. 
Look  to  yourself  and  fear  not  for  me.  Mine  injuries — 
which  I  surmise  are  internal  as  they  are  not  visible — 
will  excuse  me  for  the  day.  Nor  shall  I  tarry  at  the 
palace  for  the  physician,  but  go  straight  on  without 
bolus,  simples  or  pills,  a  very  Mercury  for  speed. 
Danger  will  I  eschew  and  a  pretty  maid  shall  hold  me 
no  longer  than  it  takes  to  give  her  a  kiss  in  passing. 
Here  leave  me  at  the  tent.  Turn  back  to  the  field,  or 


182  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

they  will  suspect.  Trust  no  one,  and — you'll  mind  it 
not  in  a  friend,  one  who  would  serve  you  to  the  end? 
— forget  the  princess!  Serve  her,  save  her,  as  you 
will,  but,  remember,  women  are  but  creatures  of  the 
moment.  Adieu,  mon  ami!" 

And  Caillette  turned  as  one  in  grievous  physical 
pain  to  an  attendant,  bidding  him  speedily  remove  the 
armor,  while  the  duke's  fool,  more  deeply  stirred  than 
he  cared  to  show,  moved  again  to  the  lists. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

A   CHAPLET   FOR   THE   DUKE 

; 

Loud  rang  encomium  and  blessing  on  the  king,  as 
the  people  that  night  crowded  in  the  rear  courtyard 
around  the  great  tables  set  in  the  open  air,  and 
groaning  beneath  viands,  nutritious  and  succulent. 
What  swain  or  yokel  had  not  a  meed  of  praise  for  the 
monarch  when  he  beheld  this  burden  of  good  cheer, 
and,  at  the  end  of  each  board,  elevated  a  little  and 
garlanded  with  roses,  a  rotund  and  portly  cask  of 
wine,  with  a  spigot  projecting  hospitably  tablewards? 

Forgotten  were  the  tax-lists  under  which  the  com- 
monalty labored;  it  was  "Hosanna"  for  Francis,  and 
not  a  plowman  nor  tiller  of  the  soil  bethought  himself 
that  he  had  fully  paid  for  the  snack  and  sup  that 
night.  How  could  he,  having  had  no  one  to  think 
for  him;  for  then  Rousseau  had  not  lived,  Voltaire 
was  unborn,  and  the  most  daring  approach  to  lese- 
majesty  had  been  Rabelais'  jocose :  "The  wearers  of 
the  crown  and  scepter  are  born  under  the  same  con- 
stellation as  those  of  cap  and  bells." 


184  UNDERTHERQSE 

Upon  the  green,  smoking  torches  illumined  the  peo- 
ple and  the  surroundings;  beneath  a  great  oven,  the 
bright  coals  cast  a  vivid  glow  far  and  near.  Close 
to  the  broad  face  of  a  cask — round  and  large  like  that 
of  a  full-fed  host  presiding  at  the  head  of  the  board — 
sat  the  Franciscan  monk,  whose  gluttonous  eye  wan- 
dered from  quail  to  partridge,  thence  onward  to  pastry 
or  pie,  with  the  spigot  at  the  end  of  the  orbit  of  ob- 
servation. Nor  as  it  made  this  comprehensive  survey 
did  his  glance  omit  a  casual  inventory  of  the  robust 
charms  of  a  bouncing  maid  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table.  Scattered  amid  the  honest,  good-natured 
visages  of  the  trusting  peasants  were  the  pinched  ad- 
venturers from  Paris,  the  dwellers  of  that  quarter 
sacred  to  themselves.  Yonder  plump,  frisky  dame 
seemed  like  the  lamb;  the  gaunt  knave  by  her  side, 
the  wolf. 

At  length  the  company  could  eat  no  more,  although 
there  yet  remained  a  void  for  drinking,  and  as  the  cups 
went  circling  and  circling,  their  laughter  mingled  with 
the  distant  strains  of  music  from  the  great,  gorgeously 
lighted  pavilion,  where  the  king  and  his  guests  were 
assembled  to  close  the  tourney  fittingly  with  the  cele- 
bration of  the  final  event — the  awarding  of  the  prize 
for  the  day. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  good  sir,  to  whom  the  umpires 


CHAPLET    FOR    THE    DUKE     185 

of  the  field  have  given  their  judgment?"  said  a  towns- 
man to  his  country  neighbor. 

"Did  you  not  hear  the  king  of  arms  decide  the  Duke 
of  Friedwald  was  the  victor?"  answered  the  other. 

"A  decision  of  courtesy,  perhaps?"  insinuated  the 
Parisian. 

"Nay ;  two  spears  he  broke,  and  overcame  three  ad- 
versaries during  the  day.  Fairly  he  won  the  award." 

"I  wish  we  might  see  the  presentation,"  interrupted 
a  maid,  pertly,  her  longing  eyes  straying  to  the  bright 
lights  afar. 

"Presentation !"  repeated  the  countryman.  "Did  we 
not  witness  the  sport?  A  fig  for  the  presentation! 
Give  me  the  cask  and  a  juicy  haunch,  with  a  lass  like 
yourself  to  dance  with  after,  and  the  nobles  are  wel- 
come to  the  sight  of  the  prize  and  all  the  ceremony 
that  goes  with  it." 

Within  the  king's  pavilion,  the  spectacle  alluded  to, 
regretfully  by  the  girl  and  indifferently  by  the  man, 
was  at  that  moment  being  enacted.  Upon  a  throne  of 
honor,  the  lady  of  the  tournament,  attended  by  two 
maids,  looked  down  on  a  brilliant  assemblage, 
through  which  now  approached  the  king  and  the 
princess'  betrothed.  The  latter  seemed  somewhat 
thoughtful ;  his  eye  had  but  encountered  that  of  the 
duke's  fool,  whose  gaze  expressed  a  disdainful  con- 


186  UNDERTHEROSE 

fidence  the  other  fain  would  have  fathomed.  But  for 
that  unfortunate  meeting  in  the  lists  which  had  sealed 
the  lips  of  the  only  person  who  had  divined  the 
hidden  danger,  the  free  baron  would  now  have  been 
master  of  the  plaisant's  designs.  Above,  in  the  palace, 
the  trooper  with  the  red  mustaches  lay  on  his  couch 
unconscious. 

For  how  long?  The  court  physician  could  not  say. 
The  soldier  might  remain  insensible  for  hours.  Thus 
had  the  jester  served  himself  with  that  stroke  better 
than  he  knew,  and  he  of  Hochfels  bit  his  lip  and  fumed 
inwardly,  but  to  no  purpose.  Not  that  he  believed  the 
peril  to  be  great,  but  the  fact  he  could  not  grasp  it 
goaded  him,  and  he  cursed  the  trooper  for  a  dolt  and 
a  poltroon  that  a  mere  fool  should  have  vanquished 
him.  And  so  he  had  left  him,  with  a  last  look  of  dis- 
gust at  the  silent  lips  that  could  not  do  his  bidding, 
and  had  proceeded  to  the  royal  pavilion,  where  the 
final  act  of  the  day's  drama — more  momentous  than 
the  king  or  other  spectators  realized — was  to  be  per- 
formed ;  an  act  in  which  he  would  have  appeared  with 
much  complacency,  but  that  his  chagrin  preyed  some- 
what on  his  vanity. 

But  his  splendid  self-control  and  audacity  revealed 
to  the  courtly  assemblage  no  trace  of  what  was  pass- 
ing in  his  mind.  He  walked  by  the  king's  side  as 


CHAPLET   FOR   THE   DUKE      187 

one  not  unaccustomed  to  such  exalted  company,  nor 
overwhelmed  by  sudden  honors.  His  courage  was 
superb;  his  demeanor  that  of  one  born  to  command; 
in  him  seemed  exemplified  a  type  of  brute  strength  and 
force  denoting  a  leader — whether  of  an  army  or  a 
band  of  swashbucklers.  As  the  monarch  and  the  free 
baron  drew  near,  the  princess  slowly,  gracefully 
arose,  while  now  grouped  around  the  throne  stood  the 
heralds  and  pursuivants  of  the  lists.  In  her  hand 
Louise  held  the  gift,  covered  with  a  silver  veil,  an 
end  of  which  was  carried  by  each  of  the  maids. 

"Fair  Lady  of  the  Tournament,"  said  the  king, 
"this  gallant  knight  is  Bon  Vouloir,  whom  you  have 
even  heard  proclaimed  the  victor  of  the  day." 

"Approach,  Bon  Vouloir  I"  commanded  the  Queen 
of  Love. 

The  maids  uncovered  the  gift,  the  customary  chaplet 
of  beaten  gold,  and,  as  the  free  baron  bowed  his  head, 
the  princess  with  a  firm  hand  fulfilled  the  functions  of 
her  office.  Rising,  Eon  Vouloir,  amid  the  exclama- 
tions of  the  court,  claimed  the  privilege  that  went  with 
the  bauble.  A  moment  he  looked  at  the  princess ;  she 
seemed  to  bend  beneath  his  regard ;  then  leaning  for- 
ward, deliberately  rather  than  ardently,  he  touched  her 
cheek  with  his  lips.  Those  who  watched  the  Queen 


i88  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

of  Love  closely  observed  her  face  become  paler  and 
her  form  tremble ;  but  in  a  moment  she  was  again  mis- 
tress of  herself,  her  features  prouder  and  colder  than 
before. 

"Did  you  notice  how  he  melted  the  ice  of  her  na- 
ture ?"  whispered  Diane,  with  a  malicious  little  laugh, 
to  the  countess. 

"And  yet  'twas  not  his — warmth  that  did  it,"  wisely 
answered  the  favorite  of  the  king. 

"His  coldness,  then,"  laughed  the  other,  as  the  mu- 
sicians began  to  play,  and  the  winner  of  the  chaplet 
led  the  princess  to  the  dance.  "Is  it  not  so,  Sire  ?"  she 
added,  turning  to  the  king,  who  at  that  moment  ap- 
proached. 

"He,  indeed,  forgot  a  part  of  the  ceremony,"  gra- 
ciously assented  Francis. 

"A  part  of  the  ceremony,  your  Majesty?"  ques- 
tioned Diane. 

"To  kiss  the  two  damsels  of  the  princess ;  and  one 
of  them  was  worthy  of  casual  courtesy,"  he  added, 
musingly. 

"Which,  Sire?"  asked  the  countess,  quickly. 

"The  dark-browed  maid,"  returned  the  monarch, 
thoughtfully.  "Where  did  I  notice  her  last  ?" 

And  then  he  remembered.     It  was  she  who,  he  sus- 


CHAP  LET    FOR    THE    DUKE     189 

pected,  had  laughed  that  night  in  Fools'  hall.  Re- 
calling the  circumstance,  the  king  looked  around  for 
her,  but  she  had  drawn  back. 

"Is  it  your  pleasure  to  open  the  festivities,  Sire?" 
murmured  the  favorite,  and,  without  further  words, 
Francis  acquiesced,  proffering  his  arm  to  his  com- 
panion. 

Masque,  costume  ball,  ballet,  it  was  all  one  to  the 
king  and  the  court,  who  never  wearied  of  the  diverting 
vagaries  of  the  dance.  Now  studying  that  panto- 
mimic group  of  merrymakers,  in  the  rhythmical  ex- 
pression of  action  and  movement  could  almost  be  read 
the  influence  and  relative  positions  of  the  fair  revelers. 
The  countess,  airy  and  vivacious,  perched,  as  it  were, 
lightly  yet  securely  on  the  arm  of  the  throne;  Diane, 
fearless,  confident  of  the  future  through  the  dauphin ; 
Catharine,  proud  of  her  rank,  undisturbe'd  in  her  own 
exalted  place  as  wife  of  the  dauphin  ;  Marguerite,  mix- 
ture of  saint  and  sinner,  a  soft  heart  that  would  oft- 
times  turn  the  king  from  a  hard  purpose. 

"There !  I've  danced  enough,"  said  a  panting  voice, 
and  Jacqueline,  breathless,  paused  before  the  duke's 
fool,  who  stood  a  motionless  spectator  of  the  revelry. 
In  his  rich  costume  of  blue  and  white,  the  figure  of  the 
foreign  jester  presented  a  fair  and  striking  appear- 


UNDERTHEROSE 


ance,  but  his  face,  proud  and  composed,  was  wanting 
in  that  spirit  which  animated  the  features  of  his  fel- 
lows in  motley. 

"One  more  turn,  fair  Jacqueline  ?"  suggested  Marot, 
her  partner  in  the  dance. 

"Not  one!"  she  answered. 

"Is  that  a  dismissal?"  he  asked,  lightly. 

"  "Pis  for  you  to  determine,"  retorted  the  maid. 

"Modesty  forbids  I  should  interpret  it  to  my  de- 
sires," he  returned,  laughing,  as  he  disappeared. 

Tall,  seeming  straighter  than  usual,  upon  each 
cheek  a  festal  rose,  she  stood  before  the  duke's  plai- 
sant,  inscrutable,  as  was  her  fashion,  the  scarf  about 
her  shoulders  just  stirring  from  the  effects  of  the 
dance,  and  her  lips  parted  to  her  hurried  breathing. 

"How  did  you  like  the  ceremony  ?"  she  asked,  quiet- 
ly. "And  did  you  know,"  she  went  on,  without  no- 
ticing the  dark  look  in  his  eyes  or  awaiting  his  re- 
sponse, "the  lance  turned  upon  you  to-day  was  not  a 
'weapon  of  courtesy'  ?" 

"You  mean  it  was  directed  by  intention?"  he  asked 
indifferently. 

"Not  only  that,"  she  answered.  "I  mean  that  the 
•disk  had  been  removed  and  the  point  left  bare." 

"A  mistake,  of  course,"  he  said,  with  a  peculiar 
smile. 


CHAPLET    FOR    THE    DUKE     191 

A  look  of  impatience  crossed  her  face,  but  she  gazed 
at  him  intently  and  her  eyes  held  his  from  the  floor 
where  they  would  have  strayed. 

"Are  you  stupid,  or  do  you  but  profess  to  be?"  she 
demanded.  "Before  the  tilt  I  noticed  the  duke  and 
his  trooper  talking  together.  When  they  separated 
the  latter,  unobserved  as  he  thought,  struck  the  point 
of  his  weapon  against  his  stirrup.  The  disk  fell  to 
the  ground." 

"Your  glance  is  sharp,  Jacqueline,"  he  retorted, 
slowly.  "Thank  you  for  the  information." 

Her  eyes  kindled ;  an  angry  retort  seemed  about  to 
spring  from  her  lips.  It  was  with  difficulty  she  con- 
trolled herself  to  answer  calmly  a  moment  later. 

"You  mean  it  can  serve  you  nothing?  Perhaps  you 
are  right.  To-day  you  were  lucky.  To-morrow  you 
may  be — what?  To-day  you  defended  yourself  well 
and  it  was  a  good  lance  you  bore.  Had  it  been  any 
other  jester,  the  king  would  have  praised  him.  Be- 
cause it  was  you,  no  word  has  been  spoken.  If  any- 
thing, your  success  has  annoyed  him.  Several  of  the 
court  spoke  of  it;  he  answered  not;  'tis  the  signal  to 
ignore  it,  and — you!" 

"Then  are  you  courageous  to  brave  public  opinion 
and  hold  converse  with  me,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile. 

"Public  opinion !"  she  exclaimed  with  flashing  eyes. 


192  UNDERTHEROSE 

"What  would  they  say  of  a  jestress?  Who  is  she? 
What  is  she?" 

She  ended  abruptly ;  bit  her  lips,  showing  her  gleam- 
ing white  teeth.  Then  some  emotion,  more  profound, 
swept  over  her  expressive  face;  she  looked  at  him  si- 
lently, and  when  she  spoke  her  voice  was  more  gentle. 

"I  can  not  believe,"  she  continued  thoughtfully, 
"that  the  duke  told  his  trooper  to  do  that.  Tis  too 
infamous.  The  man  must  have  acted  on  his  own  re- 
sponsibility. The  duke  could  not,  would  not,  counte- 
nance such  baseness." 

"You  have  a  good  opinion  of  him,  gentle  mistress," 
he  said  in  a  tone  that  exasperated  her. 

"Who  has  not?"  she  retorted,  sharply.  "He  is  as 
brave  as  he  is  distinguished.  Farewell.  If  you 
served  him  better,  and  yourself  less,  you — " 

"Would  serve  myself  better  in  the  end?"  he  inter- 
rupted, satirically.  "Thanks,  good  Jacqueline.  A 
woman  makes  an  excellent  counselor." 

Disdainfully  she  smiled;  her  face  grew  cold;  her 
figure  looked  never  more  erect  and  inflexible. 

"Why,"  she  remarked,  "here  am  I  wasting  time 
talking  when  the  music  is  playing  and  every  one  is 
dancing.  Even  now  I  see  a  courtier  approaching  who 
has  thrice  importuned  me."  And  the  jestress  van- 
ished in  the  throng  as  abruptly  as  she  had  appeared. 


CHAPLET    FOR    THE   DUKE    193 

Thoughtfully  the  duke's  fool  looked,  not  after  her, 
but  toward  a  far  end  of  the  pavilion,  where  he  last 
had  seen  the  princess  and  her  betrothed. 

"Caillette  should  now  be  well  on  his  way,"  he  told 
himself.  "No  one  has  yet  missed  him,  or  if  they  do 
notice  his  absence  they  will  attribute  it  to  his  injuries." 

This  thought  lent  him  confidence ;  the  implied  warn- 
ings of  the  maid  passed  unheeded  from  his  mind ;  in- 
deed, he  had  scarcely  listened  to  them.  Amid  stronger 
passions,  he  felt  the  excitement  of  the  subtile  game  he 
and  the  free  baron  were  playing;  the  blind  conviction 
of  a  gambler  that  he  should  yet  win  seized  him,  dis- 
sipating in  a  measure  more  violent  thoughts. 

He  began  to  calculate  other  means  to  make  assur- 
ance doubly  sure;  an  intricate  realm  of  speculation, 
considering  the  safeguards  the  boar  of  Hochfels  had 
placed  about  himself.  To  offset  the  triumphs  of  the 
king's  guest  there  occurred  to  the  jester  the  comfort- 
ing afterthought  that  the  greater  the  other's  successes 
now  the  more  ignominious  would  be  his  downfall. 
The  free  baron  had  not  hesitated  to  use  any  means  to 
obliterate  his  one  foeman  from  the  scene;  and  he  re- 
peated to  himself  that  he  would  meet  force  with  cun- 
ning, and  duplicity  with  stealth,  spinning  such  a  web  as 
lay  within  his  own  capacity  and  resources.  But  in  es- 
timating the  moves  before  him,  perhaps  in  his  new- 


194  UNDERTHEROSE 

found  trust,  he  overlooked  the  strongest  menace  to 
his  success — a  hazard  couched  within  himself. 

Outspreading  from  the  pavilion's  walls  were  floral 
bowers  with  myriad  lights  that  shone  through  the 
leaves  and  foliage,  where  tiny  fragrant  fountains  tin- 
kled, or  diminutive,  fairy-like  waterfalls  fell  amid 
sweet-smelling  plants.  Green,  purple,  orange,  red, 
had  been  the  colors  chosen  in  these  dainty  retreats  for 
such  of  the  votaries  of  the  Court  of  Love  as  should, 
from  time  to  time,  care  to  exchange  the  merry-making 
within  for  the  languorous  rest  without.  It  was  yet 
too  early,  however,  for  the  sprightly  devotees  to  aban- 
don the  lively  pleasures  of  the  dance,  so  that  when  the 
duke's  fool  abstractedly  entered  the  balmy,  crimson 
nook,  at  first  he  thought  himself  alone. 

Around  him,  carmine,  blood-warm  flowers  exhaled 
a  commingling  redolence ;  near  him  a  toy-like  fountain 
whispered  very  softly  and  confidentially.  Through  the 
foliage  the  figures  moved  and  moved;  on  the  air  the 
music  fell  and  rose,  thin  in  orchestration,  yet  brightly 
penetrating  in  sparkling  detail.  Buoyant  were  the 
violins;  sportive  the  flutes;  all  alive  the  gitterns; 
blithesome  the  tripping  arpeggios  that  crisply  fell 
from  the  strings  of  the  joyous  harps. 

The  rustling  of  a  gown  admonished  him  he  was  not 
alone,  and,  looking  around,  amid  the  crimson  flowers, 


CHAPLET    FOR    THE    DUKE     195 

to  his  startled  gaze,  appeared  the  face  of  her  of  whom 
he  was  thinking;  above  the  broad,  white  brow  shone 
the  radiance  of  hair,  a  gold  that  wa's  almost  bronze  in 
that  dim  light ;  through  the  green  tangle  of  shrubbery, 
a  silver  slipper. 

"Ah,  it  is  you,  fool  ?"  she  said  languidly.  It  may  be, 
he  contrasted  the  indifference  of  her  tones  now  with 
the  unconscious  softness  of  her  voice  when  she  had 
addressed  him  on  another  occasion — in  ,  another  gar- 
den; for  his  face  flushed,  and  he  would  have  turned 
abruptly,  when — 

"Oh,  you  may  remain,"  she  added,  carelessly. 
"The  duke  has  but  left  me.  He  received  a  message 
that  the  man  hurt  in  the  lists  was  most  anxious  to  see 
him." 

Into  the  whirl  of  his  reflections  her  words  insinuated 
themselves.  Why  had  the  free  baron  gone  to  the 
trooper?  What  made  his  presence  so  imperative  at 
the  bedside  of  the  soldier  that  he  had  abruptly  aban- 
doned the  festivities?  Surely,  more  than  mere  anx- 
iety for  the  man's  welfare.  The  jester  looked  at  the 
princess  for  the  answer  to  these  questions;  but  her 
face  was  cold,  smiling,  unresponsive.  In  the  basin  of 
the  fountain  tiny  fish  played  and  darted,  and  as  his 
eyes  turned  from  her  to  them  they  appeared  as  swift 
and  illusive  as  his  own  surging  fancies. 


196  UNDERTHEROSE 

"The — duke,  Madam,  is  most  solicitous  about  his 
men,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  strangely 
calm. 

"A  good  leader  has  always  in  mind  the  welfare  of 
his  soldiers,"  she  replied,  briefly. 

Her  hand  played  among  the  blossoms.  Over  the 
flowers  she  looked  at  him.  Her  features  and  arms 
were  of  the  sculptured  roundness  of  marble,  but  the 
reflection  of  the  roses  bathed  her  in  the  warm  hue  of 
life.  As  he  met  her  gaze  the  illumined  pages  of  a 
book  seemed  turning  before  his  eyes.  Did  she  re- 
member? 

She  could  not  but  perceive  his  emotion ;  the  tribute 
of  a  glance  beyond  control,  despite  the  proud  immo- 
bility of  his  features. 

"Sit  here,  fool,"  she  said,  not  unkindly,  "and  you 
may  tell  me  more  about  the  duke.  His  exploits — of 
that  battle  when  he  saved  the  life  of  the  emperor." 

The  jester  made  no  move  to  obey,  but,  looking 
down,  answered  coldly:  "The  duke,  Madam,  likes 
not  to  have  his  poor  deeds  exploited." 

"Poor  deeds!"  she  returned,  and  seemed  about  to 
reply  more  sharply  when  something  in  his  face  held 
her  silent. 

Leaning  her  head  on  her  hand,  she  appeared  to  for- 
get his  presence ;  motionless  save  for  a  foot  that  waved 


CHAPLET    FOR    THE    DUKE     197 

to  and  fro,  betraying  her  restless  mood.  The  sound 
of  her  dress,  the  swaying  of  the  foot,  held  his  atten- 
tion. In  that  little  bower  the  air  was  almost  stifling, 
laden  with  the  perfume  of  many  flowers.  Even  the 
song  of  the  birds  grew  fainter.  Only  the  tiny  foun- 
tain, more  assertive  than  ever,  became  louder  and 
louder.  The  princess  breathed  deeply;  half-arose;  a 
vine  caught  in  her  hair ;  she  stooped  to  disentangle  it ; 
then  held  herself  erect. 

"How  close  it  is  in  here!"  she  murmured,  arrang- 
ing the  tress  the  plant  had  disturbed.  "Go  to  the  door, 
fool,  and  see  if  you  can  find  your  master." 

Involuntarily  he  had  stepped  toward  her,  as  though 
to  assist  her,  but  now  stopped.  His  face  changed ; 
he  even  laughed.  That  last  word,  from  her  lips, 
seemed  to  break  the  spell  of  self-control  that  held  him. 

"My  master!"  he  said  in  a  hard,  scoffing  tone. 
"Whom  mean  you?  The  man  who  left  you  to  go  to 
the  soldier  ?  That  blusterer,  my  master !  That  swag- 
gering trooper !" 

Her  inertness  vanished ;  the  sudden  anger  and  won- 
derment in  her  eyes  met  the  passion  in  his. 

"How  dare  you — dare  you — "  she  began. 

"He  is  neither  my  master,  nor  the  duke ;  but  a  mere 
free-booter,  a  mountain  terrorist!" 


198  UNDERTHEROSE 

Pride  and  contempt  replaced  her  surprise,  but  in- 
dignation still  remained.  His  audacity  in  coming  to 
her  with  this  falsehood ;  his  hardihood  in  maintaining 
it,  admitted  of  but  one  explanation.  By  her  com- 
plaisance in  the  past  she  had  fanned  the  embers  of  a 
passion  which  now  burst  beyond  control.  She  real- 
ized how  more  than  fair  she  looked  that  evening — 
had  she  not  heard  it  from  many? — had  not  the  eyes 
of  the  king's  guest  told  her? — and  she  believed  that 
this  lie  must  have  sprung  to  the  jester's  lips  while  he 
was  regarding  her. 

As  the  solution  crossed  her  mind,  revealing  the 
plaisant,  a  desperate  and  despicable,  as  well  as  lowly 
wooer,  her  face  relaxed.  In  the  desire  to  test  her  con- 
clusion, she  laughed  quietly,  musically.  Cruelly  kind, 
smiled  the  princess. 

"You  are  mad,"  she  breathed  softly.  "You  are 
mad — because — because  you — " 

He  started,  studying  her  eagerly.  He  fancied  he 
read  relenting  softness  in  her  gaze ;  a  flash  of  memory 
into  a  past,  where  glamour  and  romance,  and  the 
heart-history  of  the  rose  made  up  life's  desideratum. 
Wherein  existence  was  but  an  allegory  of  love's  quest, 
and  the  goal,  its  consummation.  Had  she  not  bent 
sedulously  over  the  rose  of  the  poet?  Had  not  her 
breath  come  quickly,  eagerly?  Could  he  not  feel  it 


CHAPLET    FOR    THE    DUKE     199 

yet,  sweet  and  warm  on  his  cheek?  Into  the  past, 
having  gone  so  far,  he  stepped  now  boldly,  as  though 
to  grasp  again  those  illusive  colors  and  seize  anew 
the  intangible  substance.  He  was  but  young,  when 
shadows  seem  solid,  when  dreams  are  corporeal  stuff, 
and  fantasies,  rock-like  strata  of  reality. 

So  he  knelt  before  her.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I  love 
you!" 

And  thus  remained,  pale,  motionless,  all  resent- 
ment or  jealousy  succeeded  by  a  stronger  emotion, 
a  feeling  chivalric  that  bent  itself  to  a  glad  thral- 
dom, the  desire  but  to  serve  her — to  save  her.  His 
heart  beat  faster ;  he  raised  his  head  proudly. 

"Listen,  Princess,"  he  began.  "Though  I  meant  it 
not,  I  fear  I  have  greatly  wronged  you.  I  have  much 
to  ask  your  pardon  for;  much  to  tell  you.  It  is  I — 
I—" 

The  words  died  on  his  lips.  From  the  princess' 
face  all  softness  had  suddenly  vanished.  Her  gaze 
passed  him,  cold,  haughty.  Across  the  illusory  posi- 
tiveness  of  his  world — immaterial,  psychological, 
ghostly — an  intermediate  orb — a  tangible  shadow  was 
thrown.  Behind  him  stood  the  free  baron  and  the 
king.  Quickly  the  fool  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Princess !"  exclaimed  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  mas- 
ter of  Hochfels. 


200  UNDERTHEROSE 

"My  Lord?" 

For  a  moment  neither  spoke,  and  then  the  clear, 
cold  voice  of  the  princess  broke  the  silence. 

"Are  all  the  fools  in  your  country  so  presumptu- 
ous, my  Lord?"  she  said. 

The  king's  countenance  lightened;  he  turned  his 
accusing  glance  upon  the  fool.  As  in  a  dream  stood 
the  latter ;  the  words  he  would  have  uttered  remained 
unspoken.  But  briefly  the  monarch  surveyed  him, 
satirically,  darkly ;  then  turning,  with  a  gesture,  sum- 
moned an  attendant.  Not  until  the  hands  of  two  sol- 
diers fell  upon  him  did  the  fool  betray  any  emotion. 
Then  his  face  changed,  and  the  stunned  look  in  his 
eyes  gave  way  to  an  expression  of  such  unbridled 
feeling  that  involuntarily  the  king  stepped  back  and 
the  free  baron  drew  his  sword.  But  neither  had  the 
monarch  need  for  apprehension,  nor  the  princess'  be- 
trothed use  for  his  weapon.  Some  emotion,  deeper 
than  anger,  replaced  the  savage  turmoil  of  the  jester's 
thoughts,  as  with  a  last  fixed  look  at  the  princess  he 
mechanically  suffered  himself  to  be  led  away.  Louise's 
gaze  perforce  followed  him,  and  when  the  canvas  fell 
and  he  had  disappeared  she  passed  a  hand  across  her 
brow. 

"Are  you  satisfied,  my  Lord?"  said  the  king  to  the 
free  baron. 


CHAPLET    FOR    THE    DUKE    aoi 

"The  knave  has  received  his  just  deserts,  Sire,"  re- 
plied the  other,  and,  stepping  to  the  princess'  side, 
raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"Mere  de  Dieu!"  cried  the  monarch,  passing  his 
arm  in  a  friendly  manner  over  the  free  baron's  shoul- 
der and  addressing  Louise.  "You  will  find  Robert 
of  Friedwald  worthy  of  your  high  trust,  cousin." 

Without,  they  were  soon  whispering  it.  The  at- 
tendant, who  was  the  Count  of  Cross,  breathed  what 
he  knew  to  the  Duke  of  Montmorency,  who  told  Du 
Bellays,  who  related  the  story  to  Diane  de  Poitiers, 
who  embellished  it  for  Villot,  who  carried  it  to  Jacque- 
line. 

"Triboulet  has  his  wish,"  said  the  poet-fool,  half- 
regretfully.  "There  is  one  jester  the  less." 

"Where  have  they  taken  him  ?"  asked  the  girl,  stead- 
ily. 

"Where— but  to  the  keep !" 

"That  dungeon  of  the  old  castle  ?" 

"Well,"  he  returned  significantly,  "a  fool  and  his 
jests — alas! — are  soon  parted.  Let  us  make  merry, 
therefore,  while  we  may.  For  what  would  you? 
Come,  mistress — the  dance — " 

"No!  no!  no!"  she  exclaimed,  so  passionately  he 
gazed  at  her  in  surprise. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

AN   EARLY-MORNING  VISIT 

In  a  mood  of  contending  thought,  the  free  baron 
left  his  apartments  the  next  morning  and  traversed 
the  tapestry-hung  corridor  leading  toward  the  serv- 
ants' and  soldiers'  quarters.  He  congratulated  him- 
self that  the  incident  of  the  past  night  had  precipitated 
a  favorable  climax  in  one  source  of  possible  instability, 
and  that  the  fool  who  had  opposed  him  had  been  sum- 
marily removed  from  the  field  of  action.  Confined 
within  the  four  walls  of  the  castle  dungeon,  there  was 
scant  likelihood  he  would  cause  further  trouble  and 
annoyance.  Francis'  strong  prison  house  would  ef- 
fectively curb  any  more  interference  with,  or  dabbling 
in,  the  affairs  of  the  master  of  the  Vulture's  Nest. 

Following  the  exposure  of  the  jester's  weakness,  his 
passion  for  his  mistress,  Francis,  as  Villot  told  Jacque- 
line, had  immediately  ordered  the  fool  into  strictest 
confinement,  the  donjon  of  the  ancient  structure.  In 
that  darkened  cell  he  had  rested  over  night  and  there 

202 


EARLY-MORNING    VISIT       203 

he  would  no  doubt  remain  indefinitely.  The  king's 
guest  had  not  been  greatly  concerned  with  the  jester's 
quixotic  love  for  the  princess,  being  little  disposed 
to  jealousy.  He  was  no  sighing  solicitant  for  wom- 
an's favor;  higher  allurements  than  woman's  eyes,  or 
admiration  for  his  inamorata,  moved  him — that  edge 
of  appetite  for  power,  conquest  hunger,  an  itching 
palm  for  a  kingdom.  His  were  the  unscrupulous  sol- 
dier's rather  than  the  eager  true-love's  dreams. 

But  to  offset  his  satisfaction  that  the  jester  lay  un- 
der restraint  he  took  in  bad  part  the  trooper's  con- 
tinued insensibility  which  deprived  him  of  the  much- 
desired  information.  When  he  had  repaired  to  the 
bedside  of  the  soldier  the  night  before  he  had  only 
his  trip  for  his  pains,  as  the  man  had  again  sunk 
into  unconsciousness  shortly  before  his  coming.  Thus 
the  free  baron  was  still  in  ignorance  of  the  person  to 
whom  the  fool  had  betrayed  him.  The  fact  that  there 
still  roamed  an  unfettered  some  one  who  possessed 
the  knowledge  of  his  identity  caused  him  to  knit  his 
brows  and  look  glum. 

These  jesters  were  daring  fellows ;  several  of  them 
had  borne  arms,  as,  for  example,  Clement  Marot,  who 
had  been  taken  prisoner  with  Francis  at  the  battle  of 
Pavia.  Brusquet  had  been  a  hanger-on  of  the  camp 
at  Avignonj  Villot,  a  Paris  student;  Caillette  had  re- 


204  UNDERTHEROSE 

ceived  the  spirited  education  of  a  soldier  in  the  house- 
hold of  his  benefactor,  Diane's  father.  And  as  for 
the  others — how  varied  had  been  their  careers ! — lives 
of  hazard  and  vicissitude ;  scapegraces  and  adventur- 
ers— existing  literally  by  their  wits. 

To  what  careless  or  wanton  head  had  his  secret 
been  confined  ?  What  use  would  the  rashling  make  of 
it?  Daringly  attempt  to  approach  the  throne  with 
this  startling  budget  of  information ;  impulsively  seek 
the  princess;  or  whisper  it  over  his  cups  among  the 
femmes  de  chambre,  laundresses  or  scullery  maids? 

"If  the  soldier  should  never  speak?"  thought  the 
free  baron  out  of  humor,  as  he  drew  near  the  trooper's 
door.  "What  a  nest  of  suspicion  may  be  growing! 
The  wasps  may  be  breeding.  A  whisper  may  become 
an  ominous  threat.  Is  not  the  danger  even  greater 
than  it  was  before,  when  I  could  place  my  hand  on  my 
foeman  ?  The  man  must  speak ! — must !" 

With  a  firm  step  the  king's  guest  entered  the  cham- 
ber of  the  injured  soldier.  Upon  a  narrow  bed  lay  the 
trooper,  his  mustachios  appearing  unusually  red  and 
fierce  against  his  now  yellow,  washed-out  complexion. 
As  the  free  baron  drew  near  the  couch  a  tall  figure 
arose  from  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"How  is  your  patient,  doctor?"  said  the  visitor, 
shortly. 


EARLY-MORNING    VISIT       205 

"Low,"  returned  the  other,  laconically.  This  per- 
son wore  a  black  gown ;  a  pair  of  huge,  broad-rimmed 
glasses  rested  on  the  bridge  of  a  thin,  long  nose,  and 
in  his  claw-like  fingers  he  held  a  vial,  the  contents  of 
which  he  stirred  slowly.  His  aspect  was  that  of 
living  sorrow  and  melancholy. 

"Has  he  been  conscious  again?"  asked  the  caller. 

"He  has  e'en  lain  as  you  see  him,"  replied  the  wear- 
er of  the  black  robe. 

"Humph!"  commented  the  free  baron,  attentively 
regarding  the  motionless  and  silent  figure. 

"I  urged  upon  him  the  impropriety  of  sending  for 
you  at  the  festivities,"  resumed  the  man,  sniffing  at 
the  vial,  "but  he  became  excited,  swore  he  would 
leave  the  bed  and  brain  me  with  mine  own  pestle  if  I 
ventured  to  hinder  him.  So  I  consented  to  convey  his 
request." 

"And  when  I  arrived  he  was  still  as  a  log,"  supple- 
mented the  visitor,  gloomily. 

"Alas,  yes ;  although  I  tried  to  keep  him  up,  giving 
him  specifics  and  carminatives  and  bleeding  him 
once." 

"Bleeding  him!"  cried  the  false  duke,  angrily, 
glowering  upon  the  impassive  and  woebegone  counte- 
nance of  the  medical  attendant.  "As  if  he  had  not 


206  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

bled  enough  from  his  hurts !  Quack  of  an  imposter ! 
You  have  killed  him !" 

"As  for  that,"  retorted  the  man  in  a  sing-song  voice, 
"no  one  can  tell  whether  a  medicine  be  antidote  or 
poison,  unless  as  leechcraft  and  chirurgery  point 
out—" 

"His  days  are  numbered,"  quoth  the  free  baron  to 
himself,  staring  downward.  But  as  he  spoke  he  imag- 
ined he  saw  the  red  mustachios  move,  while  one  eye 
certainly  glared  with  intelligent  hatred  upon  the  doctor 
and  turned  with  anxious  solicitude  upon  his  master. 
The  latter  immediately  knelt  by  the  bedside  and  laid 
his  hand  upon  the  already  cold  one  of  the  soldier. 

"Speak !"  he  said. 

It  was  the  command  of  an  officer  to  a  trooper,  an 
authoritative  bidding,  and  seemed  to  summon  a  last 
rallying  energy  from  the  failing  heart.  The  man's 
gaze  showed  that  he  understood.  From  the  free 
baron's  eye  flashed  a  glance  of  savage  power  and  force. 

"Speak!"  he  repeated,  cruelly,  imperatively. 

The  mustachios  quivered;  the  leader  bent  his  head 
low,  so  low  his  face  almost  touched  the  soldier's.  A 
voice — was  it  a  voice,  so  faint  it  sounded? — breathed 
a  few  words: 

"The  emperor — Spain — Caillette  gone!" 

Quickly  the  free  baron  sprang  to  his  feet.     The  sol- 


EARLY-MORNING    VISIT       207 

dier  seemed  to  fall  asleep;  his  face  calm  and  tranquil 
as  a  campaigner's  before  the  bivouac  fire  at  the  hour 
of  rest;  the  ugliness  of  his  features  glossed  by  a 
new-found  dignity;  only  his  mustachios  strangely 
fierce,  vivid,  formidable,  against  the  peace  and  pallor 
of  his  countenance.  The  leech  looked  at  him ;  stopped 
stirring  the  drug ;  leaned  over  him ;  straightened  him- 
self ;  took  the  vial  once  more  from  the  table  and  threw 
the  medicine  out  of  the  window.  Then  he  method- 
ically began  gathering  up  bottles  and  other  recep- 
tacles, which  he  placed  neatly  in  a  handbag.  The  free 
baron  passed  through  the  door,  leaving  the  cheerless 
practitioner  still  gravely  engaged  in  getting  together 
his  small  belongings. 

Soberly  the  king's  guest  walked  down  the  echoing 
stairway  out  into  the  open  air  of  the  court.  The  em- 
peror in  Spain?  It  seemed  not  unlikely.  Charles 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  that  country,  nor  was  it  im- 
probable he  had  gone  there  quietly,  without  flourish 
of  trumpet,  for  some  purpose  of  his  own.  His  ways 
were  not  always  manifest;  his  personality  and  mind- 
workings  were  characterized  by  concealment.  If  the 
emperor  had  gone  to  Spain,  a  messenger,  riding  post- 
haste, could  reach  Charles  in  time  to  enable  that  mon- 
arch to  interpose  in  the  nuptials  and  override  the  con- 
fidence tKe  free  baron  had  established  for  himself  in 


208  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

the  court  of  Francis.  An  impediment  offered  by 
Charles  would  be  equivalent  to  the  abandonment  of 
the  entire  marital  enterprise. 

Pausing  before  a  massive  arched  doorway  that  led 
into  a  wing  of  the  castle  where  the  free  baron  knew 
the  jesters  and  certain  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  cham- 
ber lodged,  the  master  of  Hochfels,  in  answer  to  his 
inquiries  from  a  servant,  learned  that  Caillette  had  not 
been  in  his  apartments  since  the  day  before ;  that  he 
had  ridden  from  the  tournament,  ostensibly  to  return 
to  his  rooms,  but  nothing  had  been  heard  of  him  since. 
And  the  oddest  part  of  it  was,  as  the  old  woman  vol- 
ubly explained  when  the  free  baron  had  pushed  his 
way  into  the  tastefully  furnished  chambers  of  the 
absent  fool,  the  jester  had  been  desperately  wounded ; 
had  groaned  much  when  the  duke's  plaisant  had  assist- 
ed him  from  the  field,  and  had  been  barely  able  to 
mount  his  horse  with  the  assistance  of  a  squire. 

Meditatively,  while  absorbing  this  prattle,  the  vis- 
itor gazed  about  him.  The  bed  had  been  unslept  in, 
and  here  and  there  were  evidences  of  a  hasty  and  un- 
premeditated leave-taking.  Upon  an  open  desk  lay  a 
half -finished  poem,  obviously  intended  for  no  eyes  save 
the  writer's.  Several  dainty  missives  and  a  lace  hand- 
kerchief, with  a  monogram,  invited  the  unscrupulous 
and  prying  glance  of  the  inquisitive  newsmonger. 


EARLY-MORNING    VISIT      209 

But  as  these  details  offered  nothing-  additional  to 
the  one  great  germ  of  information  embodied  in  the 
loquacity  of  the  narrator,  the  free  baron  turned  si- 
lently away,  breaking  the  thread  of  her  volubility  by 
unceremoniously  disappearing.  No  further  doubt  re- 
mained in  his  mind  that  the  duke's  plaisant  had  sent 
a  comrade  in  motley  to  the  emperor,  and,  as  he  would 
not  have  inspired  a  mere  fool's  errand,  Charles  with- 
out question  was  in  Spain,  several  days  nearer  to  the 
court  of  the  French  monarch  than  the  princess'  be- 
trothed had  presumed.  Caillette  had  now  been  four- 
and-twenty  hours  on  his  journey;  it  would  be  useless 
to  attempt  pursuit,  as  the  jester  was  a  gallant  horse- 
man, trained  to  the  hunt.  Such  a  man  would  be  in- 
defatigable in  the  saddle,  and  the  other  realized  that, 
strive  as  he  might,  he  could  never  overcome  the  handi- 
cap. 

Then  of  what  avail  was  one  fool  in  the  dungeon, 
with  a  second — on  the  road?  Should  he  abandon  his 
quest,  be  driven  from  his  purpose  by  a  nest  of  motley 
meddlers  ?  The  idea  never  seriously  entered  his  mind ; 
he  would  fight  it  out  doggedly  ,upon  the  field  of  de- 
ception. But  how?  As  surely  as  the  sun  rose  and 
set,  before  many  days  had  come  and  gone  the  hand 
of  Charles  would  be  thrust  between  him  and  his 
projects.  Circumspect,  suspicious,  was  the  emperor; 


210  UNDERTHEROSE 

he  would  investigate,  and  investigation  meant  the 
downfall  of  the  structure  of  falsehood  that  had  been 
erected  with  such  skill  and  painstaking  by  the  subtile 
architect.  The  maker  had  pride  in  his  work,  and,  to 
see  it  totter  and  tumble,  was  a  misfortune  he  would 
avert  with  his  life — or  fall  with  it. 

As  he  had  no  intention,  however,  of  being  buried 
beneath  the  wreckage  of  his  endeavors,  he  sought  to 
prop  the  weakening  fabric  of  invention  and  men- 
dacity by  new  shuffling  or  pretense.  Should  a  dis- 
graced fool  be  his  undoing?  From  that  living  en- 
tombment should  his  foeman  in  cap  and  bells  yet  in- 
directly summon  the  force  to  bend -him  to  the  dust,  or 
send  him  to  the  hangman's  knot  ? 

Step  by  step  the  king's  guest  had  left  the  palace 
behind  him,  until  the  surrounding  shrubbery  shut  it 
from  view,  but  the  path,  sweeping  onward  with  grace- 
ful curve,  brought  him  suddenly  to  a  beautiful  cha- 
teau. Lost  in  thought,  he  gazed  within  the  flowering 
ground,  at  the  ornate  architecture,  the  marble  statues 
and  the  little  lake,  in  whose  pellucid  depths  were  mir- 
rored a  thousand  beauties  of  that  chosen  spot — an 
improved  Eden  of  the  landscape  gardener  wherein  re- 
sided the  Countess  d'Etampes. 

"Why,"  thought  the  free  baron,  brightening  abrupt- 
ly, "that  chance  which  served  me  last  night,  which 


EARLY-MORNING    VISIT       211 

forced  the  trooper  to  speak  to-day,  now  has  led  my 
stupid  feet  to  the  soothsayer." 

Within  a  much  begilt  and  gorgeous  bower,  he  soon 
found  himself  awaiting  patiently  the  coming  of  the 
favorite.  Upon  a  tiny  chair  of  gold,  too  fragile  for 
his  bulk,  the  caller  meanwhile  inspected  the  ceilings 
and  walls  of  this  dainty  domicile,  mechanically  striv- 
ing to  decipher  a  painted  allegory  of  Venus  and  Mars, 
or  Helen  and  Paris,  or  the  countess  and  Francis — he 
could  not  decide  precisely  its  purport — when  she  who 
had  succeeded  Chateaubriant  floated  into  the  room, 
dressed  in  some  diaphanous  stuff,  a  natural  accom- 
paniment to  the  other  decorations;  her  dishabille  a 
positive  note  of  modesty  amid  the  vivid  colorings  and 
graceful  poses  of  those  tributes  to  love  with  which 
Primaticcio  and  other  Italian  artists  had  adorned  this 
bower. 

"How  charming  of  you !"  vaguely  murmured  the 
lady,  sinking  lightly  upon  a  settee.  "What  an  early 
riser  you  must  be,  Duke." 

Although  it  was  then  but  two  hours  from  noon,  the 
visitor  confessed  himself  open  to  criticism  in  this  re- 
gard. "And  you,  as  well,  Madam,"  he  added,  "must 
plead  guilty  of  the  same  fault.  One  can  easily  see 
you  have  been  out  in  the  garden,  and,"  he  blundered 
on,  "stolen  the  tints  from  the  roses." 


212  UNDERTHEROSE 

Sharply  the  countess  looked  at  him,  but  read  only 
an  honest  attempt  at  a  compliment. 

"Why,"  she  said,  "you  are  becoming  as  great  a  flat- 
terer as  the  rest  of  them.  But  confess  now,  you  did 
not  call  to  tell  me  that  ?" 

The  free  baron  looked  from  her  through  the  folding 
doors  into  a  retiring  apartment,  set  with  arabesque 
designs,  and  adorned  with  inlaid  tables  bearing  stat- 
ues of  alabaster  and  enamel.  Purposely  he  waited  be- 
fore he  replied,  and  was  gratified  to  see  how  curiously 
she  regarded  him  when  again  his  glanca  returned  to 
her. 

"No,  Madam,"  he  answered,  taking  credit  to  him- 
self for  his  diplomacy,  "it  is  not  necessary  that  truth 
should  be  premeditated.  I  had  a  serious  purpose  in 
seeking  you.  Of  all  the  court  you  alone  can  assist 
me ;  it  is  to  you,  only,  I  can  look  for  aid.  Knowing 
you  generous,  I  have  ventured  to  come." 

"What  a  serious  preamble,"  smiled  the  lady.  "How 
grave  must  be  the  matter  behind  it !" 

"The  service  I  ask  must  be  from  the  king,"  he  went 
on,  with  seeming  embarrassment. 

"Then  why  not  go  to  his  Majesty?"  she  interrupted, 
with  the  suggestion  of  a  frown. 

"Because  I  should  fail,"  he  retorted,  frankly.  "The 
case  is  one  wherein  a  messenger — like  yourself — a 


EARLY-MORNING    VISIT      213 

friend — may  I  so  call  you? — would  win,  while  I,  a 
rough  soldier,  should  but  make  myself  ridiculous,  the 
laughing  stock  of  the  court." 

"You  interest  me,"  she  laughed.  "It  must  be  a 
pressing  emergency  when  you  honor  me — so  early  in 
the  day." 

"It  is,  Madam,"  he  replied.  "Very  pressing  to  me. 
I  want  the  wedding  day  changed." 

"Changed!"  she  exclaimed,  staring  at  him.  "De- 
ferred?" 

"No ;  hastened,  Madam.  It  is  too  long  to  wait.  Go 
to  the  king;  ask  him  to  shorten  the  interval;  to  set 
the  day  sooner.  I  beg  of  you,  Madam !" 

His  voice  was  hard  and  harsh.  It  seemed  almost  a 
demand  he  laid  upon  her.  Had  he  been  less  blunt  or 
coercive,  had  he  employed  a  more  honeyed  appeal,  she 
would  not  have  felt  so  moved  in  his  behalf.  In  the 
atmosphere  of  adulation  and  blandishment  to  which 
she  was  accustomed,  the  free  baron  offered  a  marked 
contrast  to  the  fine-spoken  courtiers,  and  she  leaned 
back  and  surveyed  him  as  though  he  were  a  type  of 
the  lords  of  creation  she  had  not  yet  investigated. 

"Oh,  this  is  delicious!"  purred  the  countess. 
"Samson  in  the  toils!  His  locks  shorn  by  our  fair 
Delilah !" 

The   thick-set    soldier   arose;    muscular,   well-knit, 


214  UNDERTHEROSE 

virile.  "I  fear  I  am  detaining  you,  Madam,"  he  said, 
coldly. 

"No;  you're  not,"  she  answered,  merrily.  "Won't 
you  be  seated — please !  I  should  have  known,"  she 
could  not  resist  adding,  "that  love  is  as  sensitive  as 
impatient." 

"I  see,  Madam,  that  you  have  your  mind  made  up 
to  refuse  me,  and  therefore — " 

"Refuse,"  repeated  the  favorite,  surveying  this 
unique  petitioner  with  rising  amusement.  "How  do 
you  read  my  mind  so  well  ?" 

"Then  you  haven't  determined  to  refuse  me  ?"  And 
he  stepped  toward  her  quickly. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  she  answered,  throwing  back  her 
head,  like  a  spoiled  child.  "On  the  contrary,  I  will 
be  your  messenger,  your  advocate,  and  will  plead  your 
cause,  and  will  win  your  case,  and  the  king  shall  say 
'yes/  and  you  shall  have  your  princess  whene'er  you 
list.  All  this  I  promise  faithfully  to  do  and  perform. 
And  now,  if  you  want  to  leave  me  so  sullenly,  go !" 

But  the  free  baron  dropped  awkwardly  to  his  knee, 
took  her  little  hand  in  his  massive  one  and  raised  it 
to  his  lips.  "Madam,  you  overwhelm  me,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"That  is  all  very  well,"  she  commented,  reflectively, 


EARLY-MORNING    VISIT       215 

"but  what  about  the  princess?  What  will  she  say 
when — " 

"It  shall  be  my  task  to  persuade  her.  I  am  sure 
she  will  consent,"  returned  the  suitor. 

"Oh,  you're  sure  of  that  ?"  observed  the  lady.  "You 
have  some  faith  in  your  own  powers  of  persuasion — 
in  certain  quarters!" 

"Not  in  my  powers,  Madam,  but  in  the  princess' 
amiability." 

"Perhaps  you  have  spoken  to  her  already?"  asked 
the  countess. 

"No,  Madam ;  without  your  assistance,  of  what  use 
would  be  her  willingness?" 

"What  a  responsibility  you  place  on  my  weak  shoul- 
ders!" cried  the  other.  "However,  I  will  not  shift 
the  burden.  I  will  go  to  his  Majesty  at  once.  And 
do  you" — gaily — "go  to  the  princess." 

"At  your  command!"  he  replied,  and  took  his  de- 
parture. 

Without  the  inclosure  of  the  chateau  gardens,  the 
free  baron  began  to  review  the  events  of  the  morning 
with  complacency  and  satisfaction,  but,  as  he  took  up 
the  threads  of  his  case  and  examined  them  more  nar- 
rowly, his  peace  of  mind  was  darkened  with  the  shadow 
of  a  new  disquietude.  What  if  Francis,  less  easily 


216  UNDERTHEROSE 

cozened  than  the  countess,  should  find  his  suspicions 
aroused?  What  if  the  princess,  who  had  immediately 
dismissed  the  fool's  denouncement  of  the  free  baron 
as  an  ebullition  of  blind  jealousy — after  informing 
her  betrothed  of  the  mad  accusation — should  see  in 
his  request  equivocal  circumstances?  Or,  was  the 
countess — like  many  of  her  sisters — given  to  second 
thoughts,  and  would  this  after-reverie  dampen  the 
ardor  of  her  impetuous  promise? 

"But,"  thought  the  king's  guest,  banishing  these 
assailing  doubts,  "there  never  yet  was  victory  assured 
before  the  battle  had  been  fought,  and,  with  renewed 
precautions,  defeat  is  most  unlikely." 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  this  conclusion  he  had 
arrived  at  the  princess'  door. 


CHAPTER   XV 

A   NEW   DISCOVERY 

The  dim  rays  of  a  candle  glimmered  within  a  cubical 
space,  whereof  the  sides  consisted  of  four  stone  walls, 
and  a  ceiling  and  floor  of  the  same  substantial  ma- 
terial. For  furnishings  were  provided  a  three-legged 
stool,  a  bundle  of  straw  and — the  tallow  dip.  One  of 
the  walls  was  pierced  by  a  window,  placed  almost  be- 
yond the  range  of  vision ;  the  outlook  limited  by  day 
to  a  bit  of  blue  sky  or  a  patch  of  verdant  field,  with 
the  depressing  suggestion  of  a  barrier  to  this  outer 
world,  three  feet  in  thickness,  massively  built  of  stone 
and  mortar,  hardened  through  the  centuries.  At 
night  these  pictures  faded  and  the  Egyptian  darkness 
within  became  partly  dispelled  through  the  brave 
efforts  of  the  small  wick;  or  when  this  half-light 
failed,  a  far  star  without,  struggling  in  the  depths  of 
the  palpable  obscure,  appeared  the  sole  relief. 

But  now  the  few  inches  of  candle  had  only  begun  to 
eke  out  its  brief  period  of  transition  and  the  solitary 

217 


218  UNDERTHEROSE 

occupant  of  the  cell  could  for  some  time  find  such  poor 
solace  as  lay  in  the  companionship  of  the  tiny  yellow 
flame.  With  his  arms  behind  him.  the  duke's  fool 
moved  as  best  he  might  to  and  fro  within  the  narrow 
confines  of  his  jail ;  the  events  which  had  led  to  his  in- 
carceration were  so  recent  he  had  hardly  yet  brought 
himself  to  realize  their  full  significance.  Neither 
Francis'  anger  nor  the  free  baron's  covert  satisfaction 
during  the  scene  following  their  abrupt  appearance  in 
the  bower  of  roses  had  greatly  weighed  upon  him ;  but 
not  so  the  attitude  of  the  princess. 

How  vividly  all  the  details  stood  out  in  his  brain ! 
The  sudden  transitions  of  her  manner;  her  seeming 
interest  in  his  passionate  words ;  her  eyes,  friendly,  ten- 
der, as  he  had  once  known  them;  then  portentous 
silence,  frozen  disdain.  What  latent  energy  in  the  free 
baron's  look  had  invested  her  words  with  his  spirit? 
Had  the  adduction  of  his  mind  compelled  hers  to  his 
bidding,  or  had  she  but  spoken  from  herself?  Into 
the  marble-like  pallor  of  her  face  a  faint  flush  had 
seemed  to  insinuate  itself,  but  the  words  had  dropped 
easily  from  her  lips :  "Are  all  the  fools  of  your  coun- 
try so  presumptuous,  my  Lord?" 

Above  the  other  distinctive  features  of  that  tragic 
night,  to  the  plaisant  this  question  had  reiterated  itself 
persistently  in  the  solitude  of  his  cell.  True,  he  had 


A   NEW   DISCOVERY.  219 

forgotten  he  was  only  a  jester;  but  had  it  not  been  the 
memory  of  her  soft  glances  that  had  hurried  him  on  to 
the  avowal?  She  had  no  fault  to  be  condoned;  the 
fool  was  the  sole  culprit.  From  her  height,  could  she 
not  have  spared  him  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  her 
question  ?  Over  and  over,  through  the  long  hours  he 
had  asked  himself  that,  and,  as  he  brooded,  the  idealiza- 
tion with  which  he  had  adorned  her  fell  like  an  en- 
shrouding drapery  to  the  dust ;  of  the  vestment  of 
fancy  nothing  but  tatters  remained. 

A  voice  without,  harsh,  abrupt,  broke  in  upon  the 
jester's  thoughts.  The  prisoner  started,  listened  in- 
tently, a  gleam  of  fierce  satisfaction  momentarily  creep- 
ing into  his  eyes.  If  love  was  dead,  a  less  exalted 
feeling  still  remained. 

"How  does  the  fool  take  his  imprisonment?"  asked 
the  arrogant  voice. 

"Quietly,  my  Lord,"  was  the  jailer's  reply. 

"He  is  inclined  to  talk  over  much  ?" 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  the  man. 

A  brief  command  followed ;  a  key  was  inserted  in  the 
lock,  and,  with  a  creaking  /of  bolts  and  groaning  of 
hinges,  the  warder  swung  back  the  iron  barrier.  Upon 
the  threshold  stood  the  commanding  figure  of  the  free 
baron.  A  moment  he  remained  thus,  and  then,  with 
an  authoritative  gesture  to  the  man,  stepped  inside. 


220  UNDERTHEROSE 

The  turnkey  withdrew  to  a  discreet  distance,  where 
he  remained  within  call,  yet  beyond  the  range  of  or- 
dinary conversation:  Immovably  the  king's  guest 
gazed  upon  the  jester,  who,  unabashed,  calmly  en- 
dured the  scrutiny. 

"Well,  fool,"  began  the  free  baron,  bluntly,  "how 
like  you  your  quarters  ?  You  fought  me  well ;  in  truth 
very  well.  But  you  labored  under  a  disadvantage, 
for  one  thing  is  certain:  a  jester  in  love  is  doubly — 
a  fool." 

"Is  that  what  you  have  come  to  say?"  asked  the 
plaisant,  his  bright  glance  fastened  on  the  other's  con- 
fident face. 

"I  came — to  return  the  visit  you  once  made  me," 
easily  retorted  the  master  of  Hochfels.  "By  this  time 
you  have  probably  learned  I  am  an  opponent  to  be 
feared." 

"As  one  fears  the  assassin's  knife,  or  a  treacherous 
onslaught,"  said  the  fool. 

"Did  I  not  say,  when  you  left  that  night,  the  truce 
was  over  ?"  returned  the  king's  guest,  frowning. 

"True,"  was  the  ironical  answer.  "Forewarned; 
forearmed.  And  that  sort  of  warfare  was  to  be  ex- 
pected from  the  bastard  of  Pfalz-Urfeld." 

"Well,"  unreservedly  replied  the  free  baron,  who 


A  NEW  DISCOVERY  221 

for  reasons  of  his  own  chose  not  to  challenge  the  af- 
front, "in  those  two  instances  you  were  not  worsted. 
And  as  for  the  trooper  who  attacked  you — I  know  not 
whether  your  lance  or  the  doctor's  lancet  is  respon- 
sible for  his  taking  off.  But  you  met  him  with  true 
attaint.  You  would  have  made  a  good  soldier.  It  is 
to  be  regretted  you  did  not  place  your  fortune  with 
mine — but  it  is  too  late  now." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  plaisant,  "it  is  too  late." 

Louis  of  Hochfels  gave  him  a  sharp  look.  "You 
cling  yet  to  some  forlorn  hope  ?" 

To  the  fool  came  the  vision  of  a  brother  jester  speed- 
ing southward,  ever  southward.  The  free  baron 
smiled. 

"Caillette,  perhaps?"  he  suggested.  For  a  moment 
he  enjoyed  his  triumph,  watching  the  expression  of 
the  fool's  countenance,  whereon  he  fancied  he  read 
dismay  and  astonishment. 

"You  know  then  ?"  said  the  plaisant  finally. 

"That  you  sent  him  to  the  emperor?    Yes." 

In  the  fool's  countenance,  or  his  manner,  the  king's 
guest  sought  confirmation'  of  the  dying  trooper's 
words.  Also,  was  he  fencing  for  such  additional  in- 
formation as  he  might  glean,  and  for  this  purpose  had 
he  come.  Had  the  emperor  really  gone  to  Spain? 


222 


The  soldier's  assurance  had  been  so  faint,  sometimes 
the  free  baron  wondered  if  he  had  heard  aright,  or  if 
he  had  correctly  interpreted  the  meager  message. 

"And  you — of  course — detained  Caillette?"  re- 
marked the  prisoner,  with  an  effort  at  indifference,  his 
heart  beating  violently  the  while. 

"No,"  slowly  returned  the  other.     "He  got  away." 

Into  his  eyes  the  fool  gazed  closely,  as  if  to  read 
and  test  this  unexpected  statement. 

"Got  away !"  he  repeated.     "How,  since  you  knew?" 

"Because  I  learned  too  late,"  quietly  replied  the  free 
baron.  "He  was  four-and-twenty  hours  gone  when  I 
found  out.  Too  great  a  start  to  be  overcome." 

"Why  should  you  tell  me  this — unless  it  is  a 
lie?"  coolly  asked  the  jester. 

"A  lie!"  exclaimed  the  visitor,  frowning. 

"Yes,  like  your  very  presence  in  Francis'  court," 
added  the  fool,  fearlessly. 

In  the  silence  ensuing  the  passion  slowly  faded  from 
the  countenance  of  the  king's  guest.  He  remembered 
he  had  not  yet  ascertained  what  he  wished  to  know. 

"Such  recriminations  from  you  remind  me  of  a  bird 
beating  its  wings  against  the  bars  of  its  cage,"  at 
length  came  the  unruffled  response.  "Why  should  I 
lie  ?  There  is  no  need  for  it.  You  sent  Caillette ;  he 
is  on  his  way  now,  for  all  of  me.  For" — leading  to 


A  NEW  DISCOVERY  223 

the  thread  of  what  he  sought — "why  should  I  have 
stopped  him?  He  embarked  on  a  hopeless  chase. 
How  can  he  reach  Austria  and  the  emperor  in  time  to 
prevent  the  marriage?" 

The  jester's  swift  questioning  glance  was  not  lost 
upon  the  speaker,  who,  after  a  pause,  continued. 
"Had  I  known,  I  am  not  sure  I  would  have  prevented 
his  departure.  What  better  way  to  dispose  of  him 
than  to  let  him  go  on  a  mad-cap  journey?  Besides, 
you  must  have  forgotten  about  the  passes.  How 
could  you  expect  him  to  get  by  my  sentinels?  It  will 
attract  less  attention  to  have  him  stopped  there  than 
here." 

All  this,  spoken  brusquely,  was  accompanied  by 
frank,  insolent  looks  which  beneath  their  seeming 
openness  concealed  an  intentness  of  purpose  and  a 
shrewd  penetration.  Only  the  first  abrupt  change  in 
the  fool's  look,  a  slight  one  though  it  was,  betrayed 
the  jester  to  his  caller.  In  that  swiftly  passing  gleam, 
as  the  free  baron  spoke  of  Austria,  and  not  of  Spain, 
the  other  read  full  confirmation  of  what  he  desired  to 
know. 

"He  will  do  his  best,"  commented  the  jester,  care- 
lessly. 

"And  man  can  do  no  more,"  retorted  the  king's 
guest.  "Many  a  battle  has  been  thus  bravely  lost." 


224  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

He  had  hoped  to  provoke  from  the  plaisant  some 
further  expression  of  self-content  in  his  plans  for  the 
future,  but  the  other  had  become  guarded. 

What  if  he  offered  the  fool  clemency?  asked  the 
princess'  betrothed  of  himself.  If  the  jester  had 
confidence  in  the  future  he  would  naturally  rather  re- 
main in  the  narrow  confines  of  his  dark  chamber  than 
consider  proposals  from  one  whom  he  believed  he 
would  yet  overcome.  The  free  baron  began  to  enjoy 
this  strategic  duplicity  of  language;  the  environing 
dangers  lent  zest  to  equivocation;  the  seduction  of 
finding  himself  more  potent  than  forces  antagonistic 
became  intoxicating  to  his  egotism. 

"Why,"  he  said,  patronizingly,  surveying  the  slen- 
der figure  of  the  fool,  "a  good  man  should  die  by  the 
sword  rather  than  go  to  the  scaffold.  What  if  I  were 
to  overlook  Caillette  and  the  rest  ?  He  is  harmless," — 
more  shrewdly;  "let  him  go.  As  for  the  princess — 
well,  you're  young;  in  the  heyday  for  such  nonsense. 
I  have  never  yet  quarreled  seriously  with  man  for 
woman's  sake.  There  are  many  graver  causes  for 
contention — a  purse,  or  a  few  acres  of  land;  right 
royal  warfare.  If  I  get  the  king  to  forgive  you,  and 
the  princess  to  overlook  your  offense,  will  you  well  and 
truthfully  serve  me  ?" 

"Never !"  answered  the  fool,  promptly. 


A  NEW  DISCOVERY  225 

"He  is  sure  the  message  will  reach  Charles  in 
Spain,"  mentally  concluded  the  king's  guest.  "Yet," 
he  continued  aloud  in  a  tone  of  mockery,  "you  did  not 
hesitate  to  betray  your  master  yourself.  Why,  then, 
will  you  not  betray  him  to  me  ?" 

"To  him  I  will  answer,  not  to  you,"  returned  the 
jester,  calmly. 

A  contemptuous  smile  crossed  the  free  baron's  face. 

"And  tell  him  liow  you  dared  look  up  to  his  mis- 
tress? That  you  sought  to  save  her  from  another, 
while  you  yourself  poured  your  own  burning  tale  into 
her  ear?  Two  things  I  most  admire  in  nature,"  went 
on  the  free  baron,  with  emphasis.  "A  dare-devil  who 
stops  not  for  man  or  Satan,  and — an  honest  man. 
You  take  but  a  compromising  middle  course;  and 
will  hang,  a  hybrid,  from  some  convenient  limb." 

"But  not  without  first  knowing  that  you,  too,  in  all 
likelihood,  will  adorn  an  equally  suitable  branch,  my 
Lord  of  the  thieves'  rookery,"  said  the  jester,  smiling. 

Louis  of  Hochfels  responded  with  an  ugly  look. 
His  bloodshot  eyes  took  fire  beneath  the  provocation. 

"Fool,  you  expect  your  duke  will  intervene !"  he 
exclaimed.  "Not  when  he  has  been  told  all  by  the 
king,  or  the  princess,"  he  sneered.  "Do  you  think 
she  cares?  You,  a  motley  fool;  a  theme  for  jest 
between  us." 


226  UNDERTHEROSE 

"But  when  she  learns  about  you?"  retorted  the 
plaisant,  significantly. 

"She  will  e'en  be  mistress  of  my  castle." 

"Castle?"  laughed  the  jester.  "A  robber's  aery! 
a  footpad's  retreat!  A  rifler  of  the  roads  become  a 
great  lord?  You  of  royal  blood!  Then  was  your 
father  a  king,  of  thieves !" 

The  free  baron's  face  worked  fearfully;  the  kingly 
part  of  him  had  been  a  matter  of  fanatical  pride; 
through  it  did  he  believe  he  was  destined  to  power  and 
honors.  But  before  the  cutting  irony  of  the  plaisant, 
that  which  is  heaven-born — self-control — dropped 
from  him;  the  mad,  brutal  rage  of  the  peasant  surged 
in  his  veins. 

Infuriate  his  hand  sought  his  sword,  but  before  he 
could  draw  it  the  fool,  anticipating  his  purpose,  had 
rushed  upon  him  with  such  impetuosity  and  sudden- 
ness that  the  king's  guest,  in  spite  of  his  bulk  and 
strength,  was  thrust  against  the  wall.  Like  a  grip  of 
iron,  the  jester's  fingers  were  buried  in  his  opponent's 
throat.  For  one  so  youthful  and  slender  in  build,  his 
power  was  remarkable,  and,  strive  as  he  might,  the 
princess'  betrothed  could  not  shake  him  off.  Although 
his  arms  pressed  with  crushing  force  about  the  figure 
of  the  fool,  the  hand  at  his  throat  never  relaxed.  He 
endeavored  to  thrust  the  plaisant  from  him,  but,  like 


ANEW  DISCOVERY  227 

a  tiger,  the  jester  clung;  to  and  fro  they  swayed;  to 
the  free  baron,  suffocated  by  that  gauntlet  of  steel,  the 
room  was  already  going  around;  black  spots  danced 
before  his  eyes.  He  strove  to  reach  for  the  dagger 
that  hung  from  his  girdle,  but  it  was  held  between 
them.  Perhaps  the  muscles  of  the  king's  guest  had 
been  weakened  by  the  excesses  of  Francis'  court,  yet 
was  he  still  a  mighty  tower  of  strength,  and,  mad  with 
rage,  by  a  last  supreme  effort  he  finally  managed  to 
tear  himself  loose,  hurling  the  fool  violently  from  him 
into  the  arms  of  the  jailer,  who,  attracted  by  the 
sound  of  the  struggle,  at  that  moment  rushed  into  the 
cell.  This  keeper,  himself  a  burly,  herculean  soldier, 
promptly  closed  with  the  prisoner. 

Breathless,  exhausted,  the  free  baron  marked  the 
conflict  now  transferred  to  the  turnkey  and  the  jester. 
The  former  held  the  fool  at  a  decided  disadvantage, 
as  he  had  sprung  upon  the  back  of  the  jester  and  was 
also  unweakened  by  previous  efforts.  But  still  the 
fool  contended  fiercely,  striving  to  turn  so  as  to  grap- 
ple with  his  assailant,  and  wonderingly  the  free  baron 
for  a  moment  watched  that  exhibition  of  virility  and 
endurance.  During  the  wrestling  the  jester's  doublet 
had  been  torn  open  and  suddenly  the  gaze  of  the  king's 
guest  fell,  as  if  fascinated,  upon  an  object  which  hung 
from  his  neck. 


228  UNDERTHEROSE 

Bending  forward,  he  scrutinized  more  closely  that 
which  had  attracted  his  attention  and  then  started 
back.  Harshly  he  laughed,  as  though  a  new  train  of 
thought  had  suddenly  assailed  him,  and  looked  earn- 
estly into  the  now  pale  face  of  the  nearly  helpless  fool. 

"Why,"  he  cried,  "here's  a  different  complication !" 

And  stooping  suddenly,  he  grasped  the  stool  from 
the  floor  and  brought  it  down  with  crushing  force 
upon  the  plaisant's  head.  A  cowardly,  brutal  blow; 
and  at  once  the  prisoner's  grasp  relaxed,  and  he  lay 
motionless  in  the  arms  of  the  warder,  who  placed  him 
on  the  straw. 

"I  think  the  knave's  dead,  my  Lord,"  remarked  the 
man,  panting  from  his  exertion. 

"That  makes  the  comedy  only  the  stronger,"  replied 
the  free  baron  curtly,  as  he  knelt  by  the  side  of  the 
prostrate  figure  and  thrust  his  hand  under  the  torn 
doublet.  Having  procured  possession  of  the  object 
which  chance  had  revealed  to  him,  he  arose  and,  with- 
out further  word,  left  the  cell. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

TIDINGS   FROM    THE    COURT 

When  Brusquet,  the  jester,  fled  from  the  camp  at 
Avignon,  where  he  had  presumed  to  practise  medi- 
cine, to  the  detriment  of  the  army,  some  one  said: 
"Fools  and  cats  have  nine  lives,"  and  the  revised 
proverb  had  been  accepted  at  court.  It  was  this  say- 
ing the  turnkey  muttered  when  he  bent  over  the  pros- 
trate figure  of  the  duke's  plaisant  after  the  free  baron 
had  departed.  Thus  one  of  the  fabled  sources  of 
existence  was  left  the  fool,  and  again  it  seemed  the 
proverb  would  be  realized. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  still  the  vital  spark 
burned;  perhaps  it  wavered,  but  in  this  extremity  the 
jester  had  not  been  entirely  neglected ;  but  who  had  be- 
friended him,  assisting  the  spirit  and  the  flesh  to  main- 
tain their  unification,  he  did  not  learn  until  some  time 
later.  Youth  and  a  strong  constitution  were  also  a 
shield  against  the  final  change,  and  when  he  began  to 
mend,  and  his  heart-beats  grew  stronger,  even  the 

229 


230  UNDERTHEROSE 

jailer,  his  erstwhile  assailant,  the  most  callous  of  his 
several  keepers,  exhibited  a  stony  interest  in  this  un- 
usual convalescence. 

The  touch  of  a  hand  was  the  plaisant's  first  impres- 
sion of  returning  consciousness,  and  then  into  his 
throbbing  brain  crept  the  outlines  of  the  prison  walls 
and  the  small  window  that  grudgingly  admitted  the 
light.  To  his  confused  thoughts  these  surroundings 
recalled  the  struggle  with  the  free  baron  and  the 
jailer.  As  across  a  dark  chasm,  he  saw  the  face  of  the 
false  duke,  whereon  wonder  and  conviction  had  given 
way  to  brutal  rage,  and,  with  the  memory  of  that 
treacherous  blow,  the  fool  half-started  from  his 
couch. 

A  low  voice  carried  him  back  from  the  past  to  a 
vague  cognizance  of  a  woman's  form,  standing  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  and  two  grave,  dark  eyes  looking  down 
upon  him  which  he  strove  in  vain  to  interrogate  with 
his  own.  He  would  have  spoken,  but  the  soothing 
pressure  of  the  hand  upon  his  forehead  restrained  him, 
and,  turning  to  the  wall,  sleep  overcame  him ;  a  slum- 
ber long,  sound  and  restorative.  Motionless  the  figure 
remained,  listening  for  some  time  to  his  deep  breath- 
ing and  then  stole  away  as  silently  as  she  had  come. 

Amid  a  solitude  like  that  of  a  catacomb  the  hours 
ran  their  course;  the  day  grew  old,  and  eventide  re- 


TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT    231 

placed  the  waning  flush  in  the  west.  The  shadows 
deepened  into  night,  and  the  first  kisses  of  morn  again 
merged  into  the  brighter  prime.  Near  the  cell  the 
only  sound  had  been  the  footstep  of  the  warder,  or  the 
scampering  of  a  rat,  but  now  from  afar  seemed  to 
come  a  faint  whispering,  like  the  murmur  of  the  ocean. 
It  was  the  voice  of  awakened  nature ;  the  wind  and  the 
trees ;  the  whir  of  birds'  wings,  or  the  sound  of  other 
living  creatures  in  the  forest  hard  by.  A  song  of 
life  and  buoyancy,  it  breathed  just  audibly  its  cheering 
intonation  about  the  prison  bars,  when  the  captive 
once  more  stirred  and  gazed  around  him.  As  he 
did  so,  the  figure  of  the  woman,  who  had  again  noise- 
lessly entered  the  cell,  stepped  forward  and  stood 
near  the  couch. 

"Are  you  better  ?"  she  asked. 

He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  surprised  at  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  his  visitor. 

"Jacqueline !"  he  said,  wonderingly,  recognizing  the 
features  of  the  joculatrix.  "I  must  have  been  uncon- 
scious all  night."  And  he  stared  from  her  toward  the 
window. 

"Yes,"  she  returned  with  a  peculiar  smile;  "all 
night."  And  bending  over  him,  she  held  a  receptacle 
to  his  lips  from  which  he  mechanically  drank  a  broth, 
warm  and  refreshing,  the  while  he  endeavored  to  ac- 


232  UNDERTHEROSE 

count  for  the  strangeness  of  her  presence  in  the  cell. 
She  placed  the  bowl  on  the  floor  and  then,  straighten- 
ing her  slim  figure,  again  regarded  him. 

"You  are  improving  fast,"  she  commented,  reflect- 
ively. 

"Thanks  to  your  sovereign  mixture,"  he  answered, 
lifting  a  hand  to  his  bandaged  head,  and  striving  to 
collect  his  scattered  ideas  which  already  seemed  to 
flow  more  consecutively.  The  pain  which  had  racked 
his  brow  had  grown  perceptibly  less  since  his  last  deep 
slumber,  and  a  grateful  warmth  diffused  itself  in  his 
veins  with  a  growing  assurance  of  physical  relief. 
"But  may  I  ask  how  you  came  here?"  he  continued, 
perplexity  mingling  with  the  sense  of  temporary 
languor  that  stole  over  him. 

"I  heard  the  duke  tell  the  king  you  had  attacked 
him  and  he  had  struck  you  down,"  she  replied,  after  a 
pause. 

His  face  darkened ;  his  head  throbbed  once  more ; 
with  his  fingers  he  idly  picked  at  the  straw. 

"And  the  king,  of  course,  believed,"  he  said.  "Oh, 
credulous  king!"  he  added  scornfully.  "Was  ever  a 
monarch  so  easily  befooled?  A  judge  of  men?  No; 
a  ruler  who  trusts  rather  to  fortune  and  blind  destiny. 
Unlike  Charles,  he  looks  not  through  men,  but  at 
them." 


TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT    233 

"Think  no  more  of  it,"  she  broke  in,  hastily,  seeing 
the  effect  of  her  words. 

"Nay,  good  Jacqueline,"  quickly  retorted  the  jester ; 
"the  truth,  I  pray  you.  Believe  me,  I  shall  mend  the 
sooner  for  it.  What  said  the  duke — as  he  calls  him- 
self?" 

"Why,  he  shook  his  head  ruefully,"  answered  the 
girl,  not  noticing  his  reservation.  "  'Your  Majesty,' 
he  said,  'for  the  memory  of  bygone  quibbles  I  sought 
him,  but  found  him  not — alack! — on  the  stool  of  re- 
pentance.' " 

About  the  fool's  mouth  quivered  the  grim  sugges- 
tion of  a  half-smile. 

"He  is  the  best  jester  of  us  all,"  he  muttered.  "And 
then  ?"  fastening  his  eyes  upon  hers. 

"  'No  sooner,  Sire,'  went  on  the  duke,  'had  I  en- 
tered the  cell  than  he  rushed  upon  me,  and,  it  grieves 
me,  I  used  the  wit-snapper  roughly.'  So" — folding 
her  hands  before  her  and  gazing  at  the  plaisant — "I 
e'en  came  to  see  if  you  were  killed." 

"You  came,"  he  said.     "Yes ;  but  how  ?" 

"What  matters  it?"  she  ^  answered.  "Perhaps  it 
was  magic,  and  the  cell-doors  flew  open  at  my  touch." 

"I  can  almost  believe  it,"  he  returned. 

And  his  glance  fell  thoughtfully  from  her  to  the 
couch.  Before  the  assault  he  had  lain  at  night  upon 


234  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

the  straw  on  the  floor,  and  this  unhoped-for  immunity 
from  the  dampness  of  the  stones  or  the  scampering  of 
occasional  rats  suggested  another  starting  point  for 
mental  inquiry.  She  smiled,  reading  the  interroga- 
tion on  his  face. 

"One  of  the  turnkeys  furnished  the  bed,"  she  re- 
marked, shrewdly.  "Do  you  like  it?" 

"It  is  a  better  couch  than  I  have  been  accustomed 
to,"  He  replied,  in  no  wise  misled  by  her  response,  and 
surmising  that  her  solicitation  had  procured  him  this 
luxury.  "Nevertheless,  the  night  has  seemed  strange- 
ly long." 

"It  has  been  long,"  she  returned,  moving  toward  the 
window.  "A  week  and  more." 

Surprise,  incredulity,  were  now  written  upon  his 
features.  That  such  an  interval  should  have  elapsed 
since  the  evening  of  the  free  baron's  visit  appeared 
incredible.  He  could  not  see  her  countenance  as  she 
spoke;  only  her  figure;  the  upper  portion  bright,  the 
lower  fading  into  the  deep  shadows  beneath  the  aper- 
ture in  the  wall. 

"You  tell  me  I  have  lain  here  a  week?"  he  asked 
finally,  recalling  obscure  memories  of  faintly-seen  faces 
and  voices  heard  as  from  afar. 

"And  more,"  she  repeated. 

For  some  moments  he  remained  silent,  passing  from 


TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT    235 

introspection  to  a  current  of  thought  of  which  she 
could  know  nothing ;  the  means  he  had  taken  to  thwart 
the  ambitious  projects  of  the  king's  guest. 

"Has  Caillette  returned?"  he  continued,  with  ill- 
disguised  eagerness. 

"Caillette?"  she  answered,  lifting  her  brows  at  the 
abruptness  of  the  inquiry.  "Has  he  been  away?  I 
had  not  noticed.  I  do  not  know." 

"Then  is  he  still  absent,"  said  the  jester,  decisively. 
"Had  he  come  back,  you  would  have  heard." 

Quickly  she  looked  at  him.  Caillette! — Spain! — 
these  were  the  words  he  had  often  uttered  in  his  de- 
lirium. Although  he  seemed  much  better  and  the  hot 
flush  had  left  his  cheeks,  his  fantasy  evidently  re- 
mained. 

"A  week  and  over !"  resumed  the  fool,  more  to  him- 
self than  to  his  companion.  "But  he  still  may  return 
before  the  duke  is  wedded." 

"And  if  he  did  return?"  she  asked,  wishing  to  hu- 
mor him. 

"Then  the  duke  is  not  like  to  marry  the  princess," 
he  burst  out. 

"Not  like — to  marry!"  she  replied,  suddenly,  and 
moved  toward  him.  Her  clear  eyes  were  full  upon 
him ;  closely  she  studied  his  worn  features.  "Not 
like — but  he  has  married  her !" 


236  UNDERTHEROSE 

The  jester  strove  to  spring  to  his  feet,  but  his  legs 
seemed  as  relaxed  as  his  brain  was  dazed. 

"Has  married! — impossible!"  he  exclaimed  fiercely. 

"They  were  wedded  two  days  since,"  she  went  on 
quietly,  possibly  regretting  that  surprise,  or  she  knew 
not  what,  had  made  her  speak. 

"Wedded  two  days  since!" 

He  repeated  it  to  himself,  striving  to  realize  what 
it  meant.  Did  it  mean  anything?  He  remembered 
how  mockingly  the  jestress'  face  had  shone  before  him 
in  the  past ;  how  derisive  was  her  irony.  From  Fools' 
hall  to  the  pavilion  of  the  tournament  had  she  flouted 
him. 

"Wedded  two  days  since!" 

"You  must  have  your  drollery,"  he  said,  unsteadily, 
at  length. 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  continued  to  question  her 
with  his  eyes.  Quite  still  she  remained,  save  for  an  al- 
most imperceptible  movement  of  breathing.  Against 
the  dull  beams  from  the  aperture  above,  her  hair 
darkly  framed  her  face,  pale,  dim  with  half-lights, 
illusory.  When  he  again  spoke  his  voice  sounded 
new  to  his  own  ears. 

"How  could  the  princess  have  been  married  ?  Even 
if  I  have  lain  here  as  long  as  you  say,  the  day  for 
the  wedding  was  set  for  at  least  a  week  from  now." 


TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT    237 

"But  changed !"  she  responded,  unexpectedly. 

"Changed!"  he  cried,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
couch,  and  regarding  her  as  though  he  doubted  he 
had  heard  aright.  "Why  should  it  have  been 
changed  ?" 

"Because  the  duke  became  a  most  impatient  suitor," 
she  answered.  "Daily  he  grew  more  eager.  Finally, 
to  attain  his  end,  he  importuned  the  countess.  She 
laughed,  but  good-naturedly  acceded  to  his  request, 
and,  in  turn  importuned  the  king — who  generously 
yielded.  It  has  been  a  rare  laughing  matter  at  court — 
that  the.  duke,  who  appeared  the  least  passionate 
adorer,  should  really  have  been  such  a  restless  one." 

"Dolt  that  I  have  been!"  exclaimed  the  jester,  with 
more  anger,  it  seemed  to  the  girl,  than  jealousy.  "He 
knew  about  Caillette,  but  professed  to  be  ignorant  that 
the  emperor  was  in  Spain.  And  I  believed  his  words ; 
thought  I  was  holding  something  from  him;  let  my- 
self imagine  he  could  not  penetrate  my  designs.  While 
all  the  time  he  was  intriguing  with  the  king's  favorite 
and  felt  the  sense  of  his  own  security.  What  a  cat's 
paw  he  made  of  me!  And  so  he — they  are  gone, 
Jacqueline  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  surprised  at  his  language,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  wondering  if  the  duke's  wooing  ad- 
mitted of  other  complications  than  she  had  suspected. 
"They  are  on  their  way  to  the  duke's  kingdom." 


238  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"His  kingdom !"  said  the  fool,  with  derision.  "But 
go  on.  Tell  me  about  it,  Jacqueline.  Their  parting 
with  the  court?  How  they  set  out  on  their  journey. 
All,  Jacqueline ;  all !" 

"They  were  married  in  the  Chapelle  de  la  Trinite," 
responded  the  girl,  hesitating.  Then  with  an  odd 
side  look,  she  went  on  rapidly:  "The  bridal  party 
made  an  imposing  cavalcade :  the  princess  in  her  litter, 
behind  a  number  of  maids  on  horseback.  At  the  castle 
gates  several  pages,  dressed  as  Cupids,  sent  silver  ar- 
rows after  the  bridal  train.  'Hymen ;  lo  Hymen !' 
cried  the  throng.  'Godspeed !'  exclaimed  Queen  Mar- 
guerite, and  threw  a  parchment,  tied  with  a  golden 
ribbon,  into  the  princess'  litter;  an  epithalamium,  in 
verse,  written  in  her  own  fair  hand.  'Esto  perpetual' 
murmured  the  red  cardinal.  Besides  the  groom's  own 
men,  the  king  sent  a  strong  escort  to  the  border, 
and  thus  it  was  a  numerous  company  that  rode  from 
the  castle,  with  colors  flying  and  the  princess'  hand- 
kerchief fluttering  from  her  litter  a  last  farewell." 

"A  last  farewell !"  repeated  the  fool.  "A  splendent 
picture,  Jacqueline.  They  all  shouted  Te  Deum,  and 
none  stood  there  to  warn  her." 

"To  warn!"  retorted  the  jestress.  "Not  a  maid 
but  envied  her  that  spectacle;  the  magnificence  and 
splendor !" 


TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT    239 

"But  not  what  will  follow,"  he  said,  and,  lying  back 
on  his  couch,  closed  his  eyes. 

Rapidly  the  scene  passed  before  him ;  the  false  duke 
at  the  head  of  the  cavalcade,  elate,  triumphant;  the 
princess  in  her  litter,  brilliant,  dazzling;  the  laughter, 
the  hurried  adieus;  tears  and  smiles;  the  smart  say- 
ings of  the  jesters,  a  bride  their  legitimate  prey,  her 
blushes  the  delight  of  the  facetious  nobles;  the  com- 
placency of  the  pleasure-loving  king — all  floated  be- 
fore his  eyes  like  the  figment  of  a  dream.  How  mock- 
ing the  pomp  and  glitter!  For  the  princess,  what  an 
awakening  was  to  ensue !  The  free  baron  must  have 
known  the  emperor  was  in  Spain,  and  had  met  the 
fool's  stratagem  with  a  final  masterly  manceuver.  The 
bout  was  over ;  the  first  great  bout ;  but  in  the  next — 
would  there  be  a  next?  Jacqueline's  words  now  im- 
plied a  doubt. 

"You  are  soon  to  leave  here,"  she  said.  "For 
Paris." 

Seated  on  the  stool,  her  hands  crossed  over  her 
knees,  Jacqueline  seemed  no  longer  a  creature  of  in- 
definite or  ambiguous  purpose.  On  the  contrary,  her 
profile  was  rimmed  in  light,  and  very  matter-of-fact 
and  serious  it  seemed. 

"Why  am  I  to  leave  for  Paris?"  he  remarked,  ab- 
sently. 


240  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Because  they  are  going  to  take  you  there,"  she  re- 
turned, "to  be  tried  as  a  heretic."  He  started  and 
again  sat  up.  "In  your  room  was  found  a  book  by 
Calvin.  Of  course,"  she  went  on,  "you  will  deny  it 
belonged  to  you  ?" 

"What  would  that  avail?"  he  said,  indifferently. 
"But  have  the  followers  of  Luther,  or  Calvin,  no 
friends  in  Francis'  court?" 

"Have  they  in  Charles'  domains?"  she  asked 
quickly. 

"The  Protestants  in  Germany  are  a  powerful  body ; 
the  emperor  is  forced  to  bear  with  them." 

"Here  they  have  no  friends — openly,"  she  went  on. 
"Secretly — Marguerite,  Marot;  others  perhaps.  But 
these  will  not  serve  you ;  could  not,  if  they  would.  Be- 
sides, this  heresy  of  which  you  are  accused  is  but  a 
pretext  to  get  rid  of  you." 

"And  how,  good  Jacqueline,  has  the  king  treated 
the  new  sect  ?" 

She  held  her  hand  suddenly  to  her  throat ;  her  face 
went  paler,  as  from  some  tragic  recollection. 

"Oh,"  she  answered,  "do  not  speak  of  it !" 

"They  burned  them  ?"  he  persisted. 

"Before  Notre  Dame !" 

Her  voice  was  low ;  her  eyes  shone  deep  and  gleam- 
ing. 


TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT    241 

"You  are  sorry,  then,  for  those  vile  heretics  ?"  asked 
the  fool,  curiously. 

She  raised  her  head,  half-resentfully.     "Their  souls 
need  no  one's  pity,"  she  retorted,  proudly. 

"And  you  think  mine  is  soon  like  to  be  beyond 
earthly  caring?" 

Her  glance  became  impatient.  "Most  like,"  she  re- 
turned, curtly. 

"But  what  excuse  does  the  king  give  for  his  cruel- 
ty?" he  continued,  musingly. 

"They  threw  down  the  sacred  images  in  one  of  the 
churches.  Now  a  heretic  need  expect  no  mercy. 
They  are  placed  in  cages — hung  from  beams — over 
the  fire.  The  court  was  commanded  to  witness  the 
spectacle — the  king  jested — the  countess  laughed,  but 
her  features  were  white — "  Here  the  girl  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  Soon,  however,  she  looked  up, 
brushing  back  the  hair  from  her  brow.  "Marguerite 
has  interposed,  but  she  is  only  a  feather  in  the  bal- 
ance." Abruptly  she  arose.  "Would  you  escape  such 
a  fate  ?"  she  said. 

He  remained  silent,  thinking  that  if  the  mission  to 
the  emperor  miscarried,  his  own  position  might,  in- 
deed, be  past  mending.  If  the  exposure  of  the  free 
baron  were  long  delayed,  the  fool's  assurance  in  his 
own  ultimate  release  might  prove  but  vain  expectation. 


242  UNDERTHEROSE 

In  Paris  the  trial  would  doubtless  not  be  protracted. 
From  the  swift  tribunal  to  the  slow  fire  constituted  no 
complicated  legal  process,  and  appeal  there  was  none, 
save  to  the  king,  from  whom  might  be  expected  little 
mercy,  less  justice. 

"Escape!"  the  jester  answered,  dwelling  on  these 
matters.  "But  how  ?" 

"By  leaving  this  prison,"  she  answered,  lowering 
her  voice. 

He  glanced  significantly  at  the  walls,  the  windows 
and  the  door,  beyond  which  could  be  heard  the  tread 
of  the  jailer  and  the  clanking  of  the  keys  hanging  from 
his  girdle. 

"I  would  have  done  that  long  since,  Jacqueline,  if  I 
had  had  my  will,"  he  replied. 

"Are  you  strong  enough  to  attempt  it?"  she  re- 
marked, doubtfully,  scanning  the  thin  face  before  her. 

"Your  words  shall  make  me  so,"  he  retorted,  and 
looking  into  his  glittering  eyes,  she  almost  believed 
him. 

"Not  to-day,  but  to-morrow,"  the  girl  added, 
thoughtfully.  "Perhaps  then—' 

"I  shall  be  ready,"  he  broke  in  impatiently.  "What 
must  I  do  ?" 

"Not  drink  this  wine  I  have  brought,  but  give  it  to 
the  turnkey  in  the  morning.  Invite  him  to  share  it, 


TIDINGS  FROM  THE  COURT    243 

but  take  none  yourself,  feigning  sudden  illness.  He 
will  not  refuse,  being  always  sharp-set  for  a  cup. 
Nothing  can  be  done  with  the  other  jailers,  but  this 
one  is  a  thirsty  soul,  ever  ready  to  bargain  for  a  dram. 
Your  couch  cost  I  know  not  how  many  flagons.  Al- 
though he  drinks  many  tankards  and  pitchers  every 
day,  yet  will  this  small  bottle  make  him  drowsy.  You 
will  leave  while  he  is  sleeping." 

"In  the  daylight,  mistress?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 
"Why  not  wait—" 

"No,"  she  said,  decisively;  "there  is  no  other  way. 
This  turnkey  is  only  a  day  watchman.  It  is  danger- 
ous, but  the  best  plan  that  suggested  itself.  I  know 
many  unfrequented  corridors  and  passages  through  the 
old  part  of  the  castle  the  king  has  not  rebuilt,  and  a 
road  at  the  back,  now  little  used,  that  runs  through 
the  wood  and  thicket  down  the  hill.  It  is  a  desperate 
chance,  but — " 

"The  danger  of  remaining  is  more  desperate,"  he 
interrupted,  quickly.  "Besides,  we  shall  not  fail.  It 
is  in  the  book  of  fate."  His  expression  changed ;  be- 
came fierce,  eager.  "Are  you,  indeed,  the  arbiter  of 
that  fate ;  the  sorceress  Triboulet  feared  ?" 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  duke,"  she  answered,  with 
a  frown,  "and  that  if  you  escape — " 


244  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Truly,  you  are  a  sorceress,"  he  replied,  with  a 
smile.  "I  confess  life  has  grown  sweet." 

She  moved  abruptly  toward  the  door.  "Nay,  I 
meant  not  to  offend  you,"  he  spoke  up,  more  gently. 

"It  is  your  own  fortunes  you  ever  injure,"  she  re- 
torted, gazing  coldly  back  at  him. 

"One  moment,  sweet  Jacqueline.  Why  did  you  not 
go  with  the  princess  ?" 

Her  face  changed ;  grew  dark ;  from  eyes,  deep  and 
gloomy,  she  shot  a  quick  glance  upon  him. 

"Perhaps — because  I  like  the  court  too  well  to  leave 
it,"  she  answered  mockingly,  and,  vouchsafing  no  fur- 
ther word,  quickly  vanished.  It  was  only  when  she 
had  gone  the  jester  suddenly  remembered  he  had  for- 
gotten to  thank  her  for  what  she  had  done  in  the  past 
or  what  she  proposed  doing  on  the  morrow. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

JACQUELINE'S  QUEST 

"Truly,  are  you  a  right  proper  fool;  for  a  man, 
merry  in  adversity,  is  as  wise  as  Master  Rabelais. 
Many  the  time  have  I  heard  him  say  a  fit  of  laughter 
drives  away  the  devil,  while  the  groans  of  flagellating 
saints  seem  as  music  to  Beelzebub's  ears.  Thus,  a  wit- 
cracker  is  the  demon's  enemy,  and  the  band  of  Panta- 
gruel,  an  evangelical  brotherhood,  that  with  tankard 
and  pot  sends  the  arch-fiend  back  to  the  bottomless 
pit." 

And  the  fool's  jailer,  seated  on  the  stool  within  the 
cell,  stretched  out  his  legs  and  uplifted  the  bottle  to 
his  lips,  while,  judging  from  the  draft  he  took  and 
assuming  the  verity  of  the  theory  he  advanced,  the 
prince  of  darkness  at  that  moment  must  have  fled  a 
considerable  distance  into  his  chosen  realms. 

"Ah,  you  know  the  great  philosopher,  then?"  com- 
mented the  jester  from  the  couch,  closely  watching  the 
sottish,  intemperate  face  of  his  keeper,  and  running 

245 


246  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

his  glance  over  the  unwieldy  form  which  bade  fair  to 
outrival  one  of  the  wine  butts  in  the  castle  cellar. 

"Know  him!"  exclaimed  this  lowly  votary.  "I 
have  e'en  been  admitted  to  his  table — at  the  foot,  'tis 
true — when  the  brave  fellows  of  Pantagruel  were  at  it. 
Not  for  my  wit  was  I  thus  honored" — the  plaisant 
made  a  dissenting  gesture,  the  irony  of  which  passed 
over  the  head  of  the  speaker — "but  because  a  giant 
flagon  appeared  but  a  child's  toy  in  my  hands.  The 
followers  of  Pantagruel  fell  on  both  sides,  like  wheat 
before  the  blade  of  the  reaper,  until  Doctor  Rabelais 
and  myself  only  were  left.  From  the  head  to  the  foot 
of  the  table  the  great  man  looked.  How  my  heart 
swelled  with  pride !  'Swine  of  Epicurus,  are  you  still 
there  ?'  he  said.  And  then — and  then — " 

With  a  crash  the  bottle  fell  from  the  hand  of  the 
keeper  to  the  stone  floor.  The  massive  body  swayed 
on  the  small  stool;  his  eyes  stupidly  shut  and  opened. 

"Swine  of  Epicurus,"  he  repeated.  "Swine — "  and 
followed  the  bottle,  rolling  gently  from  the  stool.  He 
made  but  one  motion,  to  extend  his  huge  bulk  more 
comfortably,  and  then  was  still. 

"Why,"  thought  the  fool,  "if  Jacqueline  fails  me 
not,  all  may  yet  be  well." 

But  even  as  he  thus  reflected  the  door  of  the  cell 
opened,  and  a  face  white  as  a  lily,  looked  in.  Her 


JACQUELINE'S   QUEST         247 

glance  passed  hastily  to  the  motionless  figure  and  an 
expression  of  satisfaction  crossed  her  features. 

"The  keys !"  she  said,  and  the  jester,  bending  over 
the  prostrate  jailer,  detached  them  from  his  girdle. 

"Lock  the  door  when  we  leave,"  she  continued. 
"The  other  keeper  does  not  come  to  relieve  him  for 
six  hours." 

"It  would  be  an  offset  for  the  many  times  he  has 
locked  me  in,"  answered  the  fool.  "A  scurvy  trick; 
yet,  as  Master  Rabelais  says,  Pantagruelians  select 
not  their  bed." 

"Is  this  a  time  for  jesting?"  exclaimed  the  girl,  im- 
patiently. 

"He  has  been  treating  me  to  Gargantuan  discourse, 
Jacqueline,"  said  the  fool,  humbly.  "I  was  but  an- 
swering him  in  kind." 

"And  by  delay  increasing  our  danger !" 

"Our  danger!"     He  started. 

Since  she  had  first  broached  the  subject  of  escape 
but  one  sweet  and  all-absorbing  idea  had  possessed 
him — retaliation.  Liberty  was  the  means  to  that  end, 
and  every  other  thought  and  consideration  had  given 
way  to  this  desire.  He  had  fallen  asleep  with  the  free 
baron's  dark  features  imaged  on  his  fevered  brain; 
when  he  had  awakened  the  morbid  fantasy  had  not  left 
him.  But  now,  at  her  words,  in  her  presence,  a  new 


248  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

light  was  suddenly  shed  upon  the  enterprise,  and  he 
paused  abruptly,  even  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  cell. 
With  growing  wonder  she  watched  his  altered  fea- 
tures. 

"Well,"  she  exclaimed,  impatiently,  "why  do  you 
stand  there?" 

"Should  I  escape,  you,  Jacqueline,  would  remain  to 
bear  the  brunt,"  he  said,  reflectively.  "The  jailer, 
when  he  awakes,  will  tell  the  story:  who  brought 
the  wine ;  who  succored  the  prisoner.  To  go,  but  one 
course  is  open."  And  he  glanced  down  upon  the 
prostrate  man.  "To  silence  him  forever!" 

She  started  and  half-shrank  from  him.  "Could  you 
do  it?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "In  fair  contest,  I  would  have 
slain  him.  But  now — it  is  not  he,  but  I,  who  am  help- 
less. And  yet  what  is  such  a  sot's  life  worth  ?  Noth- 
ing. Everything.  Farewell,  sweet  jestress ;  I  must 
trust  to  other  means,  and — thank  you." 

The  outstretched  hand  she  seemed  not  to  see,  but 
tapped  the  floor  of  the  cell  yet  more  impatiently  with 
her  foot,  as  was  her  fashion  when  angered1.  Here 
was  the  prison  door  open,  and  the  captive  enamored 
of  confinement;  at  the  culminating  point  conjuring 
reasons  why  he  should  not  flee.  To  have  gone  thus 


JACQUELINE'S  QUEST         249 

far;  to  have  eliminated  the  jailer,  and  then  to  draw 
back,  with  the  keys  in  his  hand — truly  no  scene  in  a 
comedy  could  be  more  extravagant.  The  girl  laughed 
nervously. 

"What  egotists  men  are!"  she  said.  "Good  Sir 
Jester,  in  offering  you  liberty  I  am  serving  myself; 
myself,  you  understand!"  she  repeated.  "Let  us 
hasten  on,  lest  in  defeating  your  own  purpose,  you  de- 
feat mine." 

"What  will  you  answer  when  he" — indicating  the 
drugged  turnkey — "accuses  you  ?" 

"Was  ever  such  perversity !"  was  all  she  deigned  to 
reply,  biting  her  lip. 

"You  are  somewhat  wilful  yourself,  Jacqueline,"  he 
retorted,  with  that  smile  which  so  exasperated  her. 

"Listen,"  she  said  at  length,  slowly,  impressively. 
"You  need  have  no  fear  for  me  when  you  go.  I  tell 
you  that  more  danger  remains  to  me  by  your  staying 
than  in  your  going;  that  your  obstinacy  leaves  me 
unprotected;  that  your  compliance  would  be  a  boon 
to  me.  By  the  memory  of  my  mother,  by  the  truth 
of  this  holy  book" — drawing  a  little  volume  passion- 
ately from  her  bosom — "I  swear  to  what  I  have  told 
you."  Eagerly  her  eyes  met  his  searching  gaze,  and 
he  read  in  their  depths  only  truth  and  candor.  "I 


250  UNDERTHEROSE 

have  a  quest  for  you.  It  concerns  my  life,  my  hap- 
piness. All  I  have  done  for  you  has  been  for  this 
end." 

Her  eyes  fell,  but  she  raised  them  again  quickly. 
"Will  you  accept  a  mission  from  one  who  is  not — a 
princess  ?" 

"Name  her  not !"  exclaimed  the  jester  sharply.  And 
then,  recovering  himself,  added,  less  brusquely: 
"What  is  it  you  want,  mistress?" 

"This  is  no  time  nor  place  to  tell  it,"  she  went  on 
rapidly,  seeing  by  his  face  that  his  dogged  humor  had 
melted  before  her  appeal,  "but  soon,  before  we  part, 
you  shall  know  all ;  what  it  is  I  wish  to  intrust  in  your 
hands." 

A  moment  she  waited.  "Your  argument  is  unan- 
swerable, Jacqueline,"  he  said  finally.  "I  own  myself 
puzzled,  but  I  believe  you,  so — have  your  way." 
,  "This  cloak  then" — handing  him  a  garment  she  had 
brought  with  her — "throw  it  over  you,"  she  contin- 
ued hurriedly.  "If  we  meet  any  one  it  may  serve  as 
a  disguise.  And  here  is  a  sword,"  bringing  forth  a 
weapon  that  she  had  carried  concealed  beneath  a  flow- 
ing mantle.  "Can  you  use  it  ?" 

"I  can  but  try,  Jacqueline,"  he  replied,  fastening  the 
girdle  about  his  waist  and  half-drawing  and  then 
thrusting  the  blade  back  into  the  scabbard.  "It  seems 


JACQUELINE'S   QUEST         251 

a  priceless  weapon,"  he  added,  his  eye  lingering  on  the 
richly  inlaid  hilt,  "and  has  doubtless  been  wielded  by 
a  gallant  hand." 

"Speak  not  of  that,"  she  retorted,  sharply,  a  strange 
flash  in  her  eyes.  "He  who  handled  it  was  the  bravest, 
noblest — "  She  broke  off  abruptly,  and  they  left  the 
cell,  he  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

Down  the  dimly  lighted  passage  she  walked  rapidly, 
while  the  jester  tractably  and  silently  followed.  His 
strength,  he  found,  had  come  back  to  him ;  the  joys  of 
freedom  imparted  new  elasticity  to  his  limbs;  that 
narrow,  cheerless  way  looked  brighter  than  a  royal 
gallery,  or  Francis'  Salle  des  Fetes.  Before  him 
floated  the  light  figure  of  the  jestress,  moving  faster 
and  ever  faster  down  the  dark  corridor,  now  veering 
to  the  right  or  left,  again  ascending  or  descending 
well-worn  steps;  a  tortuous  route  through  the  heart 
of  the  ancient  fortress,  whose  mystery  seemed  dread 
and  covert  as  that  of  a  prison  house.  Confidently, 
knowing  well  the  puzzling  interior  plan  of  the  old  pile, 
she  traversed  the  labyrinth  that  was  to  lead  them 
without,  finally  pausing  before  a  small  door,  which 
she  tried. 

"Usually  it  is  unlocked,"  she  said,  in  surprise.  "I 
never  knew  it  fastened  before." 

"Is  that  our  only  way  out  ?" 


252  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"The  only  safe  way.     Perhaps  one  of  the  keys — " 

But  he  had  already  knelt  before  the  door  and  the 
young  girl  watched  him  with  obvious  anxiety.  He 
vainly  essayed  all  the  keys,  save  one,  and  that  he  now 
strove  to  fit  to  the  lock.  It  slipped  in  snugly  and  the 
stubborn  bolt  shot  back. 

Entering,  he  closed  the  door  behind  them  and  has- 
tily looked  around,  discovering  that  they  stood  in  a 
crypt,  the  central  part  of  which  was  occupied  by  a 
burial  vault.  In  the  crypt  chapels  were  a  number  of 
statues,  in  marble  and  bronze,  most  of  them  rude, 
antique,  yet  not  of  indifferent  workmanship,  espe- 
cially one  before  which  the  jestress,  in  spite  of  the 
exigency  of  the  moment,  stopped  as  if  impelled  by  an 
irresistible  impulse.  This  monument,  so  read  the  in- 
scription, had  been  erected  by  the  renowned  Constable 
of  Dubrois  to  his  young  and  faithful  consort,  Anne. 

But  a  part  of  a  minute  the  girl  gazed,  with  a  new  and 
softened  expression,  upon  the  marble  likeness  of  the 
last  fair  mistress  of  the  castle,  and  then  hurriedly 
crossed  the  old  mosaic  pavement,  reaching  a  narrow 
flight  of  stairs,  which  she  swiftly  ascended.  A  door 
that  yielded  to  the  fool's  shoulder  led  into  a  deserted 
court,  on  one  side  of  which  were  the  crumbling  walls 
of  the  chapel.  Here  several  dark  birds  perched  un- 
cannily on  the  dead  branch  of  a  massive  oak  that  had 


JACQUELINE'S  QUEST         253 

been  shattered  by  lightning.  In  its  desolation  the  oak 
might  have  been  typical  of  the  proud  family,  once 
rulers  of  the  castle,  whose  corporeal  strength  had  long 
since  mingled. with  the  elements. 

This  open  space  the  two  fugitives  quickly  traversed, 
passing  through  a  high-arched  entrance  to  an  olden 
bridge  that  spanned  a  moat.  Long  ago  had  the  feudal 
gates  been  overthrown  by  Francis ;  yet  above  the  key- 
stone appeared,  not  the  salamander,  the  king's  heraldic 
emblem,  but  the  almost  illegible  device  of  the  old  con- 
stable. Beyond  the  great  ditch  outstretched  a  rolling 
country  on  which  the  jester  gazed  with  eager  eyes, 
while  his  companion  swiftly  led  the  way  to  a  clump  of 
willow  and  aspen  on  the  other  side  of  the  moat.  Be- 
neath the  spreading  branches  were  tethered  two  horses, 
saddled  and  bridled.  Wonderingly  he  glanced  from 
them  to  her. 

"From  whence  did  you  conjure  them,  gentle  mis- 
tress?" asked  the  fool. 

"Some  one  I  knew  placed  them  there." 
"But  why — two  horses,  good  Jacqueline?" 
"Because  I  am  minded  to  show  you  the  path  through 
the  wood,"  she  replied.     "You  might  mistake  it  and 
then  my  purpose  would  not  be  served.     Give  me  your 
hand,  sir.     I  am  wont  to  have  my  own  way."     And 
as  he  reluctantly  extended  his  palm  she  placed  her  foot 


254  UNDERTHEROSE 

upon  it,  springing  lightly  to  the  saddle.  "  "Pis  but  a 
canter  through  the  forest.  The  day  is  glorious,  and 
'twill  be  rare  sport." 

Already  had  she  gathered  in-  the  reins  and  turned 
her  horse,  galloping  down  a  road  that  swept  through  a 
grove  of  poplar  and  birch,  and  he,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  rode  after  her.  Like  one  born  to  the  chase, 
she  kept  her  seat,  her  lithe  figure  swaying  to  the 
movements  of  the  steed.  Soon  the  brighter  green  of 
her  gown  fluttered  amid  the  somber-tinted  pines  and 
elms,  as  the  younger  forest  growth  merged  into  a 
stern  array  of  primeval  monarchs.  Here  reigned  an 
austere  silence — a  stillness  that  now  became  the  more 
startlingly  broken. 

"Jacqueline !"  said  the  fool,  spurring  toward  her. 
"Do  you  hear?" 

"The  hunters?    Yes,"  she  replied. 

"They  are  coming  this  way." 

"Perhaps  it  were  better  to  draw  back  from  the 
road,"  she  suggested,  calmly. 

"Do  you  draw  back  to  the  castle!"  he  returned, 
quickly,  his  brow  overcast. 

"And  miss  the  hunt?  Not  I,  Monsieur  Spoil- 
Sport." 

"But  if  they  find  you  with  me  ?" 


JACQUELINE'S   QUEST         255 

She  only  tossed  her  head  wilfully  and  did  not  an- 
swer. 

Nearer  came  the  hue  and  cry  of  the  chase.  A 
heavy-horned  buck  sprang  into  the  road  and  vanished 
like  a  flash  into  the  timber  on  the  other  side.  Shortly 
afterward,  in  a  compact  bunch,  with  heads  downbent 
and  stiffened  tails,  the  pack,  a  howling,  discordant 
mass,  swept  across  the  narrow,  open  space. 

"Quick!"  exclaimed  the  jester,  and  they  turned 
their  horses  into  the  underbrush. 

Scarcely  had  they  done  so  when,  closely  following 
the  dogs,  appeared  the  first  of  the  hunters,  mounted  on 
a  splendid  charger,  with  housings  of  rose-velvet. 

"Pardieu!"  muttered  the  plaisant,  "I  owe  the  king 
no  thanks,  but  he  rides  well.  Do  you  not  think  so, 
Jacqueline  ?" 

Her  answering  gaze  was  puzzling.  After  Francis 
rode  many  lords  and  ladies,  a  stream  of  color  cross- 
ing the  road;  riding  habits  faced  with  gold;  satin 
doublets  covered  with  rivieres  of  diamonds;  torsades 
wherein  gold  became  the  foil  to  precious  stones.  So 
near  was  the  gorgeous  cavalcade — the  grand  falconer, 
whippers-in,  and  the  bearers  of  hooded  birds  mingling 
with  the  courtiers  immediately  behind  the  king — the 
escaped  prisoner  and  the  jestress  could  hear  the  pant- 


256  UNDERTHEROSE 

ing  of  horses.  Fleeting,  transient,  it  passed;  fainter 
sounded  the  din  of  hounds  and  horn;  now  it  almost 
died  away  in  the  distance.  The  last  couple  had  scarce- 
ly vanished  before  the  fool  and  his  companion  left  their 
ambush. 

"You  ride  farther,  Jacqueline?"  he  said. 

"A  little  farther." 

"It  will  be  far  to  return,"  he  protested. 

"I  have  no  fear,"  she  answered,  tranquilly. 

Again  he  let  her  have  her  way,  as  one  would  yield 
to  a  wilful  child.  On  and  on  they  sped;  past  the 
place  where  the  deer-run  crossed  the  broader  path; 
through  an  ever- varying  forest;  now  on  one  side,  a 
rocky  basin  overrun  with  trees  and  shrubs;  again, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  great  gorge,  in  whose  depths 
flowed  a  whispering  stream.  Yonder  appeared  the 
gray  walls  of  an  ancient  monastery,  one  part  only  of 
which  was  habitable;  a  turn  in  the  road  swallowed 
it  up  as  though  abruptly  to  complete  the  demoli- 
tion time  was  slowly  to  bring  about.  On  and  on, 
until  the  way  became  wilder  and  the  wood  more  over- 
grown with  bushes  and  tangled  shrubbery,  when  she 
suddenly  stopped  her  horse. 

He  understood ;  at  last  they  were  to  part.  And,  re- 
membering what  he  owed  to  her,  the  jester  suddenly 
found  himself  regretting  that  here  their  paths  sepa- 


JACQUELINE'S  QUEST         257 

rated  forever.  Swiftly  his  mind  flew  back  to  their 
first  meeting ;  when  she  had  flouted  him  in  Fools'  hall. 
A  perverse,  capricious  maid.  How  she  had  ever 
crossed  him,  and  yet — nursed  him. 

Attentively  he  regarded  her.  The  customary  pallor 
of  her  face  had  given  way  to  a  faint  tint;  her  eyes 
were  humid,  dewy-bright;  beneath  the  little  cap,  the 
curling  tresses  would  have  been  the  despair  of  those 
later-day  reformers,  the  successors  of  Calvinists  and 
Lutherans. 

"A  will-o'-the-wisp,"  he  thought.  "A  man  might 
follow  and  never  grasp  her." 

Did  she  read  what  he  felt  ?  That  mingled  gratitude 
and  perplexity?  Her  clear  eyes  certainly  seemed  to 
have  a  peculiar  mastery  over  the  thoughts  of  others. 
Now  they  expressed  only  mockery. 

"The  greater  danger  is  over,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"From  now  on  there  is  less  fear  of  your  being  taken." 

"Thanks  to  you!"  he  answered,  searching  her  with 
his  glance. 

Here  he  doubted  not  she  would  make  known  the 
quest  of  which  she  had  spoken.  Whatever  it  might  be, 
he  would  faithfully  requite  her;  even  to  making  his 
own  purpose  subservient  to  it. 

"It  is  now  time,"  she  said,  demurely,  "to  acquaint 
you  with  the  mission.  Of  course,  you  will  accept  it?" 


258  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Can  you  ask?"  he  answered,  earnestly. 

"You  promise?" 

"To  serve  you  with  my  life." 

"Then  we  had  better  go  on,"  she  continued. 

"But,  Mademoiselle,  I  thought — " 

"That  we  were  to  part  here?  Not  at  all.  I  am 
not  yet  ready  to  leave  you.  In  fact,  good  Master 
Jester,  I  am  going  with  you.  /  am  the  quest ;  /  am  the 
mission.  Are  you  sorry  you  promised  ?" 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  JESTRESS 

She,  the  quest,  the  mission !  With  growing  amaze- 
ment he  gazed  at  her,  but  she  returned  his  look,  as 
though  enjoying  his  surprise. 

"You  do  not  seem  overpleased  with  the  prospect  of 
my  company?"  she  observed.  "Or  perhaps  you  fear 
I  may  encumber  you?"  With  mock  irony.  "Con- 
fess, the  service  is  more  onerous  than  you  expected?" 

Beneath  her  flushed,  yet  smiling  face  lay  a  nervous 
earnestness  he  could  divine,  but  not  fathom. 

"Different,  certainly,"  he  answered,  brusquely. 

Her  eyes  flashed.     "How  complimentary  you  are !" 

"For  your  own  sake — " 

"My  sake !"  she  exclaimed,  passionately.  Her  little 
hand  closed  fiercely ;  proudly  her  eyes  burned  into  his. 
"Think  you  I  have  taken  this  step  idly?  That  it  is 
but  the  caprice  of  a  moment?  Oh,  no;  no!  It  was 
necessary  to  flee  from  the  court.  But  to  whom  could 
a  woman  turn  ?  Not  to  any  of  the  court — tools  of  the 

259 


260  UNDERTHEROSE 

king.  One  person  only  was  there;  he  whose  life  was 
as  good  as  forfeited.  Do  you  understand?" 

"That  my  life  belongs  to  you  ?  Yes.  But  that  you 
should  leave  the  court — where  you  have  influence, 
friends—" 

"Influence!  friends!" 

He  was  startled  by  the  bitterness  of  her  voice. 

"Tell  me,  Jacqueline — why  do  you  wish  to  go?"  he 
said,  wonderingly. 

"Because  I  wish  to,"  she  returned,  briefly,  and 
stroked  the  shining  neck  of  her  horse. 

Indeed,  how  could  she  apprise  him  of  events  which 
were  now  the  talk  of  the  court  ?  How  Francis,  evinc- 
ing a  sudden  interest  as  strong  as  it  was  unexpected, 
had  exchanged  Triboulet  for  herself,  and  the  princess, 
at  the  king's  request,  had  taken  the  buffoon  with  her, 
and  left  the  girl  behind.  The  jestress'  welcome  to 
the  household  of  the  Queen  of  Navarre ;  a  subsequent 
bewildering  shower  of  gifts ;  the  complacent,  although 
respectful,  attentions  of  the  king.  How  she  had  en- 
dured these  advances  until  no  course  remained  save 
the  one  she  had  taken.  No;  she  could  not  tell  the 
duke's  fool  all  this. 

Between  folle  and  fugitive  fell  a  mutual  reserve. 
Did  he  divine  some  portion  of  the  truth?  Are  there 
moments  when  the  mind,  tuned  to  a  tension,  may  al- 


SECRET   OF   THE   JESTRESS    261 

most  feel  what  another  experiences  ?  Why  had  the  girl 
not  gone  with  her  mistress  ?  He  remembered  she  had 
evaded  this  question  when  he  had  asked  it.  Looking 
at  her,  for  the  first  time  it  crossed  his  mind  she  would 
be  held  beautiful;  an  odd,  strange  beauty,  imperious 
yet  girlish,  and  the  conviction  crept  over  him  there 
might  be  more  than  a  shadow  of  excuse  for  her  mad 
flight. 

Beneath  his  scrutiny  her  face  grew  cold,  disdain- 
ful. "Like  all  men,"  she  said,  sharply,  as  though 
to  stay  the  trend  of  his  thoughts,  "you  are  prodigal 
in  promises,  but  chary  in  fulfilment." 

"Where  is  it  your  pleasure  to  go  ?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"That  we  shall  speak  of  hereafter,"  she  answered, 
haughtily. 

"Forward  then." 

"I  can  ride  on  alone,"  she  demurred,  "if — " 

"Nay;  'tis  I  who  crave  the  quest,"  he  returned, 
gravely. 

Her  face  broke  into  smiles.  "What  a  devoted 
cavalier!"  she  exclaimed.  "Come,  then.  Let  us  ride 
out  into  the  world.  At  least,  it  is  bright  and  shining 
— to-day.  Do  you  fear  to  follow  me,  sir?  Or  do  you 
believe  with  the  hunchback  that  I  am  an  enchantress 
and  cast  over  whom  I  will  the  spell  of  diablerie ?" 

"You  may  be  an  enchantress,  mistress,  but  the  spell 


262  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

you  cast  is  not  diablerie,"  he  answered  in  the  same 
tone. 

"Fine  words!"  she  said,  mockingly.  "But  it  re- 
mains to  be  seen  into  what  a  world  I  am  going  to  lead 
you!"  And  rode  on. 

The  rush  of  air,  the  swift  motion,  the  changing 
aspect  of  nature  were  apparently  not  without  their 
effect  on  her  spirits,  for  as  they  galloped  along  she 
appeared  to  forget  their  danger,  the  certainty  of  pur- 
suit and  the  possibility  of  capture.  Blithesome  she 
continued;  called  his  attention  to  a  startled  hare; 
pointed  with  her  whip  to  a  red-eyed  boar  that  sul- 
lenly retreated  at  their  approach;  laughed  when  an 
overhanging  branch  swept  her  little  cap  from  her 
head  and  merrily  thanked  him  when  he  hastily  dis- 
mounted and  returned  it  to  her. 

"You  see,  fool,  what  a  burden  I  am  like  to  prove !" 
she  said,  readjusting  the  cap,  and,  ere  he  could  an- 
swer, had  passed  on,  as  if  challenging  him  to  a  test  of 
speed. 

"Have  a  care !"  he  cried  warningly,  as  they  came  to 
a  rough  stretch  of  ancient  highway,  but  she  seemed 
not  to  hear  him. 

That  she  could  ride  in  such  madcap  fashion, 
seemingly  oblivious  of  the  gravity  of  their  desperate 
fortunes,  was  not  ill-pleasing  to  the  jester;  no  timor- 


SECRET   OF   THE  JESTRESS    263 

ous  companion,  shrinking  from  phantoms,  he  sur- 
mised she  would  prove.  Thus  mile  after  mile  they 
covered  and  the  shadows  had  reached  their  minimum 
length,  when,  coming  to  a  clear  pool  of  water,  they 
drew  rein  to  refresh  themselves  from  the  provisions 
in  the  saddle-bags.  Bread  and  wine — sumptuous  fare 
for  poor  fugitives — they  ate  and  drank  with  keen 
relish.  Dreamily  she  watched  the  green  insects  skim- 
ming over  the  surface  of  the  shimmering  water.  On 
the  bank  swayed  the  rushes,  as  though  making  obei- 
sance to  a  single  gorgeous  lily,  set  like  a  queen  in  the 
center  of  this  little  shining  kingdom. 

"Was  the  repast  to  your  liking?"  she  asked,  sud- 
denly looking  from  the  pool  to  him. 

"Entirely,  fair  Jacqueline.  The  wine  was  excellent. 
Hunger  gave  it  bouquet,  and  appetite  aged  it.  Never 
did  bread  taste  so  wholesome,  and  as  for  the  serv- 
ice—" 

"It  was  perfect — lacking  grand  master,  grand  cham- 
berlain, grand  marshals,  grand  everybody,"  she 
laughed. 

In  the  reflected  glow  from  pool  and  shining  leaves, 
her  eyes  were  so  full  of  light  he  could  but  wonder 
if  this  were  the  same  person  who  had  so  gravely 
stood  by  his  bedside  in  the  cell.  That  she  should 
thus  seem  carelessly  to  dismiss  all  thought  of  danger 


264  UNDERTHEROSE 

appeared  the  more  surprising,  because  he  knew  she 
was  not  one  to  lull  herself  with  the  assurance  of  a 
false  security.  To  him  her  bright  eyes  said:  "I  am 
in  your  care.  Be  yours  the  task  now."  And  thus 
interpreting,  he  broke  in  upon  her  thoughts. 

"Having  dined  and  wined  so  well,  shall  we  go  on, 
Jacqueline  ?" 

To  which  she  at  once  assented  by  rising,  and  soon 
they  had  left  the  principality  of  the  lily  far  in  the 
distance.  Now  the  road  so  narrowed  he  fell  behind. 
The  character  of  the  country  had  changed ;  some  time 
ago  they  had  passed  out  of  the  wild  forest,  and  had 
begun  to  traverse  a  great,  level  plain,  broken  with 
stubble.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  no  other  hu- 
man figures  were  visible;  the  land  outstretched,  ap-, 
parently  without  end;  no  habitations  dotted  the  land- 
scape, and,  the  sole  signs  of  life,  wheeling  birds  of 
prey,  languidly  floated  in  the  air.  At  length  she 
glanced  around.  Was  it  to  reassure  herself  the  jester 
rode  near;  that  she  had  not,  unattended,  entered  that 
forbidding  territory?  Then  she  paused  abruptly  and 
the  fool  approached. 

"By  this  time  the  turnkey  should  be  relieved,"  she 
said. 

"But  not  released,"  he  answered,  holding  up  the 
keys  which  he  yet  wore  at  his  girdle.  "They  will 


SECRET  OF  THE  JESTRESS    265 

have  to  come  a  long  distance  to  find  them,"  he  con- 
tinued, and  threw  the  keys  far  away  upon  the  sward. 

"They  may  not  think  of  following  on  this  road  at 
all,"  she  returned.  "It  is  the  old  castle  thoroughfare, 
long  since  disused." 

"And  leads  where?" 

"Southward,  to  the  main  road." 

"How  came  you  to  know  it?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"How — because  I  lived  in  the  castle  before  the  king 
built  the  palace  and  the  new  thoroughfare,"  she  an- 
swered slowly. 

"You  lived  in  the  castle,  then,  when  it  was  the  resi- 
dence of  the  proud  Constable  of  Dubrois  ?  You  must 
have  been  but  a  child,"  he  added,  reflectively. 

"Yes  ;  but  children  may  have  long  memories." 

"In  your  case,  certainly.  How  well  you  knew  all 
the  passages  and  corridors  of  the  castle !" 

She  responded  carelessly  and  changed  the  conver- 
sation. The  thoroughfare  broadening,  for  the  remain- 
der of  the  day  they  pressed  forward  side  by  side.  But 
a  single  human  figure,  during  all  those  hours,  they 
encountered,  and  that  when  the  afternoon  had  fairly 
worn  away.  For  some  time  they  had  pursued  their 
journey  silently,  when  at  a  turn  in  the  road  the  horse 
of  the  jester  shied  and  started  back. 

At   the    same   time    an    unclean,    offensive-looking 


266  UNDERTHEROSE 

monk  in  Franciscan  attire  arose  suddenly  out  of  the 
stubble  by  the  wayside.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  heavy 
staff,  newly  cut  from  the  forest,  a  stock  which  in  his 
brawny  arms  seemed  better  adapted  for  a  weapon 
than  as  a  prop  for  his  sturdy  frame.  From  the  rope 
girdle  about  his  waist  depended  a  rosary  whose  great 
beads  would  have  served  the  fingers  of  a  Cyclops,  and 
a  most  diminutive,  leathern-bound  prayer-book.  At 
the  appearance  of  the  fool  and  his  companion,  he 
opened  an  enormous  mouth,  and  in  a  voice  propor- 
tionately large  began  to  whine  right  vigorously : 

"Charity,  good  people,  for  the  Mother  Church! 
Charity  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Mother!  In  the 
name  of  the  saints,  the  apostles  and  the  evangelists ! 
St.  John,  St.  Peter,  St.—"  Then  broke  off  suddenly, 
staring  stupidly  at  the  jester. 

"The  duke's  fool!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  are  you 
doing  here?  A  plague  upon  it!  You  have  as  many 
lives  as  a  monk." 

"Call  you  yourself  a  monk,  rascal?"  asked  the  jester, 
contemptuously. 

"At  times.  Charity,  good  fool!"  the  canting  rogue 
again  began  to  whine,  edging  nearer.  "Charity,  mis- 
tress !  For  the  sake  of  the  prophets  and  the  disciples ! 
The  seven  sacraments,  the  feast  of  the  Pentecost  and 


SECRET   OF-  THE  JESTRESS    267 

the  Passover !  In  the  name  of  the  holy  Fathers !  St. 
Sebastian!  St.  Michael!  St.—" 

But  the  fugitives  had  already  sped  on,  and  the  un- 
regenerate  knave  turned  his  pious  eloquence  into  an 
unhallowed  channel  of  oaths,  waving  his  staff  menac- 
ingly after  them. 

"I  fear  me,"  said  the  jester,  when  they  had  put  a 
goodly  distance  between  themselves  and  the  solitary 
figure,  "yonder  brother  craves  almsgiving  with  his 
voice,  and  enforces  the  bounty  with  his  staff.  Woe 
betide  the  good  Samaritan  who  falls  within  reach  of 
his  pilgrim's  prop." 

"You  knew  him  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  had  the  doubtful  pleasure,"  he  answered.  "He 
was  hired  to  kill  me." 

"Why?"  in  surprise. 

"Because  the — duke  wanted  me  out  of  the  way." 

She  asked  no  further  questions,  although  he  could 
see  by  her  brow  she  was  thinking  deeply.  Was  the 
duke  then  no  better  than  a  common  assassin?  She 
frowned,  then  gave  an  impatient  exclamation. 

"It  is  inexplicable,"  she  said,  and  rode  the  faster. 

The  jester,  too,  was  silent,  but  his  mind  dwelt  upon 
the  future  and  its  hazards.  He  little  liked  their  meet- 
ing with  the  false  monk.  Why  was  the  Franciscan 


268  UNDER   THE- ROSE 

traveling  in  their  direction  ?  Had  others  of  that  band 
of  pillagers,  street-fools  and  knave-minstrels,  former- 
ly infesting  the  neighborhood  of  the  palace,  gone  that 
way  ?  He  did  not  believe  the  monk  would  long  pursue 
a  solitary  pilgrimage,  for  varlets  of  that  kind  have 
common  haunts  and  byways.  The  encounter  sug- 
gested hazard  ahead  as  well  as  the  danger  of  pursuit 
from  the  palace.  But  this  apprehension  of  a  new 
source  of  peril  he  kept  from  his  companion ;  since  go 
on  they  must,  there  was  no  need  to  disquiet  her  fur- 
ther. 

The  mystic  silver  light  of  the  day  had  now  become 
golden;  the  sky,  brilliant,  many-colored,  overdomed 
the  vast,  sullen  earth;  between  two  roseate  streamers 
a  whitish  crescent  unobtrusively  was  set.  Seemingly 
misplaced  in  a  sanguinary  sea,  passionless  it  lay,  but 
as  the  ocean  of  light  grew  dull  the  crescent  kindled. 
Over  a  thick  patch  of  pine  trees  in  the  distance 
myriads  of  dark  birds  hovered  and  screamed  in  chorus. 
Now  they  circled  restlessly  above  that  shaded  spot; 
then  darted  off,  a  cloud  against  the  sky,  and  returned 
with  renewed  cawing  and  discord.  As  the  riders  ap- 
proached the  din  abruptly  ceased,  the  creatures  mys- 
teriously and  suddenly  vanishing  into  the  depths  of  the 
thicket  below. 

In  the  fading  light,  fool  and  jestress  drew  rein,  and, 


269 

moved  by  the  same  purpose,  looked  about  them.  On 
the  one  hand  was  the  deserted,  desolate  plain  over 
which  lay  a  sullen,  gathering  mist;  on  the  other,  the 
sombrous  obscurity  of  the  wood.  Everywhere,  an  omi- 
nous silence,  and  overhead  the  crescent  growing  in 
luster. 

"Do  you  see  any  sign  of  house  or  inn?"  said  the 
girl,  peering  afar  down  the  road,  which  soon  lost 
itself  in  the  general  monotony  of  the  landscape. 

"None,  mistress;  the  country  seems  alike  barren  of 
farmhouse  or  tavern." 

"What  shall  we  do?  I  am  full  weary,"  she  con- 
fessed. 

"The  forest  offers  the  best  protection,"  he  reluctant- 
ly suggested.  Little  as  he  favored  delay,  he  realized 
the  wisdom  of  sparing  their  horses.  Moreover,  her 
appeal  was  irresistible. 

She  gazed  half -dubiously  into  that  woody  depth. 
"Why  not  rest  by  the  wayside — in  the  moonlight?" 

"I  like  not  the  open  road,"  he  answered.  "But  if 
you  fear  the  darkness — " 

For  answer  she  guided  her  horse  to  the  verge  of  the 
forest  and  lightly  sprang  to  the  ground.  Upon  a 
grassy  knoll,  but  a  little  way  within,  he  spread  his 
cloak. 

"There,  Jacqueline,  is  your  couch,"  he  said. 


270  UNDERTHEROSE 

"But  you?"  she  asked.  "To  rob  you  thus  of  your 
cloak  seems  ill-comradeship." 

"The  cloak  is  yours,"  he  returned.  "As  it  is,  you. 
will  find  it  but  a  hard  bed." 

"It  will  seem  soft  as  down,"  she  replied,  and  seated 
herself  on  the  hillock.  In  the  gloom  he  could  just  dis- 
tinguish the  outline  of  her  figure,  with  her  elbow  on 
her  knee,  and  her  hair  blacker  than  the  shadows  them- 
selves. A  long-drawn,  moaning  sound,  coming  with- 
out warning  behind  her,  caused  the  girl  to  turn. 

"What  is  that?"  she  said,  quickly. 

"The  wind,  Jacqueline.     It  is  rising." 

As  he  spoke,  like  a  monster  it  entered  the  forest; 
about  them  branches  waved  and  tossed^  a  friendly 
star  seen  through  the  boughs  lost  itself  behind  a  cloud. 
Yet  no  rain  fell  and  the  air  seemed  hot  and  dry, 
despite  the  mists  which  clung  to  the  ground.  A 
crash  of  thunder  or  a  flash  of  lightning  would  have 
relieved  that  sighing  dolor  which  filled  the  little 
patch  of  timber  with  its  melancholy  sounds. 

Suddenly,  above  the  plaint  and  murmur  of  wind  and 
forest,  the  low,  clear  voice  of  the  girl  arose ;  the  melody 
was  no  ballad,  arietta  or  pastoral,  such  as  he  had  be- 
fore heard  from  her  lips,  but  a  simple  hymn,  the  set- 
ting by  Calvin.  The  jester  started.  How  came  she 
to  know  that  forbidden  music?  Not  only  to  know, 


SECRET   OF  THE  JESTRESS    271 

but  to  sing  it  as  he  had  never  heard  it  sung  before. 
Sweetly  it  vibrated,  her  waywardness  sunk  in  its 
swelling  rhythm ;  its  melody  freighted  with  the  treas- 
ure of  her  trust.  As  he  listened  he  felt  she  was  be- 
traying to  him  the  hidden  well  of  her  faith ;  the  secret 
of  her  religion;  that  she,  his  companion,  was  pro- 
claiming herself  a  heretic,  and,  therefore,  doubly  an 
outcast. 

A  stanza,  and  the  melody  died  away  on  the  wings  of 
the  tempest.  His  heart  was  beating  violently;  he 
looked  expectantly  toward  her.  Even  more  gently, 
like  a  lullaby  to  the  turbulent  night,  the  full-measured 
cadence  of  the  majestic  psalm  was  again  heard.  Then 
another  voice,  deeper,  fuller,  blended  with  that  of  the 
first  singer.  Unwavering,  she  continued  the  song,  as 
though  it  had  been  the  most  natural  matter  he  should 
join  his  voice  with  hers.  Fainter  fell  the  harmony; 
then  ceased  altogether — a  hymn  destined  to  become 
interwoven  with  terrible  memories,  the  tragic  mas- 
sacre of  the  Huguenots  on  the  ill-fated  night  of  St. 
Bartholomew.  Again  prevailed  the  tristful  dirge  of 
the  pines. 

"You  sing  well,  mistress,"  said  the  jester,  softly. 
"Is  it  true  you  are  one  of  a  hated  sect?" 

"As  true  as  that  you  did  not  deny  the  heretic  vol- 
ume found  in  your  room,"  she  replied. 


272  UNDERTHEROSE 

A  silence  ensued  between  them.  "It  was  Marot 
placed  the  horses  there  for  us,"  she  said,  at  length. 
"He,  too,  is  a  heretic,  and  would  have  saved  you." 

Thereafter  the  silence  remained  unbroken  for  some 
moments,  and  then — 

"God  keep  you,  mistress,"  he  said. 

"God  keep  you,"  she  answered,  softly. 

Soon  her  deep  breathing  told  him  she  was  sleeping, 
and,  as  he  listened,  in  fancy  he  could  hear  the  faint 
echoes  of  her  voice,  accompanied  by  the  sighing  wind. 
How  intrepid  had  she  seemed;  how  helpless  was  she 
now ;  and,  as  he  bent  over  her,  divining  yet  not  seeing, 
he  asked  himself  whence  had  come  this  faith  in  him, 
that  like  a  child  she  slumbered  amid  the  unrest  of  na- 
ture? What  had  her  life  been,  who  her  friends, 
that  she  should  thus  have  chosen  a  jester  as  comrade? 
What  had  driven  her  forth  from  the  court  to  nameless 
hazards?  Had  he  surmised  correctly?  Was  it — 

"The  king,"  she  murmured,  with  sudden  restless- 
ness in  her  sleep. 

"The  king,"  she  repeated,  with  aversion. 

In  the  jester's  breast  upleaped  a  fierce  anger.  This 
was  the  art-loving  monarch  who  burned  the  fathers 
and  brothers  of  the  new  faith;  this,  the  righteous 
ruler  who  condemned  men  to  death  for  psalm-singing 


SECRET  OF  THE  JESTRESS    273 

or  for  listening  to  grave  discourse ;  this  the  Christian 
king,  the  brilliant  patron  of  science  and  learning. 

The  storm  had  sighed  itself  to  rest,  the  stars  had 
come  out,  but  leaning  with  his  back  against  a  tree,  the 
fool  still  kept  vigil. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

A   FIGURE   IN   THE    MOONLIGHT 

Experiencing  no  further  inconvenience  than  the  or- 
dinary vicissitudes  of  traveling  without  litter  or  caval- 
cade, several  days  of  wandering  slowly  passed.  Few 
people  they  met,  and  those,  for  the  most  part,  various 
types  of  vagabonds  and  nomads;  some  wild  and  sav- 
age, roaming  like  beasts  from  place  to  place;  others, 
harmless,  mere  bedraggled  birds  of  passage.  In  this 
latter  class  were  the  vagrant-entertainers,  with  danc- 
ing rooster  or  singing  dog,  who  stopped  at  every  peas- 
ant's door.  To  the  shrill  piping  of  the  flageolet,  these 
merry  stragglers  added  a  step  of  their  own,  and  won 
a  crust  for  themselves,  a  bone  for  the  dog  or  a  hand- 
ful of  grain  for  the  performing  fowl. 

In  those  days  when  court  ladies  rode  in  carved  and 
gilded  coaches,  and  their  escorts  on  horses  covered 
with  silken,  jeweled  nets,  the  modest  appearance  of 
the  jestress  and  her  companion  was  not  calculated  to 
attract  especial  attention  from  the  yokels  and  honest 

274 


A   FIGURE   IN   MOONLIGHT    275 

peasantry ;  although  their  steeds,  notwithstanding  their 
unpretentious  housings,  might  still  excite  the  cupidity 
of  highway  rogues.  As  it  minimized  their  risk  from 
this  latter  class,  the  young  girl  was  content  to  wear 
the  cap  of  the  jestress,  piquantly  perched  upon  her 
dark  curls,  thereby  suggesting  an  indefinable  affinity 
with  vagrancy  and  the  itinerant  fraternity. 

Not  only  had  she  donned  the  symbol  of  her  office, 
but  she  endeavored  to  act  up  to  it,  accepting  the  sweet 
with  the  sour,  with  ever  a  jest  at  discomfort  and  con- 
cealing weariness  with  a  smile.  Often  the  fool  won- 
dered at  her  endurance  and  her  calm  courage  in  the 
face  of  peril,  for  although  they  met  with  no  misadven- 
tures, each  day  seemed  fraught  with  jeopardy.  Per- 
haps it  was  fortunate  their  attire,  somewhat  travel- 
stained,  appeared  better  suited  to  the  character  of  poor, 
migratory  wearers  of  the  cap  and  bells  than  to  the  more 
magnificent  roles  of  fou  du  roi  or  folle  de  la  reine. 
But  although  they  had  gone  far,  the  jester  knew  they 
had  not  yet  traveled  beyond  the  reach  of  Francis' 
arm,  and  that,  while  the  king  might  reconcile  himself 
to  the  escape  of  the  plaisant,  he  would  not  so  easily 
tire  in  seeking  the  maid. 

Once  they  slept  in  the  fields;  again,  beside  an  old 
ruined  shrine,  in  the  shadow  of  an  ancient  cross;  the 
third  night,  on  the  bank  of  a  stream,  when  it  rained, 


276  UNDERTHEROSE 

and  she  shivered  until  dawn  with  no  word  of  com- 
plaint. Fortunately  the  sun  arose,  bright  and  warm, 
drying  the  garments  that  clung  to  her  slender  figure. 
At  the  peasants'  houses  they  paused  no  longer  than 
necessary  to  procure  food  and  drink,  and,  not  to 
awaken  suspicion,  she  preferred  paying  them  with  a 
song  of  the  people  rather  than  from  the  well-filled 
purse  she  had  brought  with  her. 

And  as  the  fool  listened  to  a  sprightly,  contagious 
carol  and  noted  its  effect  on  clod  and  hind,  he  won- 
dered if  this  could  be  the  same  voice  he  had  heard, 
uplifted  in  one  of  Master  Calvin's  psalms  in  the  soli- 
tude of  the  forest.  She  had  the  gift  of  music,  and, 
sometimes  on  the  journey,  would  break  out  with  a 
catch  or  madrigal  by  Marot,  Caillette,  or  herself.  It 
appeared  a  brave  effort  to  bear  up  under  continued 
hardship — insufficient  rest  and  sharp  riding — and  the 
jester  reproached  himself  for  thus  taxing  her  strength ; 
but  often,  when  he  suggested  a  pause,  she  would  shake 
her  head  wilfully,  assert  she  was  not  tired,  and  ride 
but  the  faster. 

"No,  no !"  she  would  say ;  "if  we  would  escape,  we 
must  keep  on.  We  can  rest  afterward." 

"Where  do  you  wish  to  go  ?"  he  asked  her  once. 

"There  is  time  enough  yet  to  speak  of  that,"  she  re- 
turned, evasively. 


A   FIGURE   IN   MOONLIGHT    277 

"You  have  some  plan,  mistress?" 

"Perhaps." 

This  answer  forbade  his  further  questioning;  of- 
fended, possibly,  his  sense  of  that  confidence  which 
is  due  comrade  to  comrade,  but  she  became  imme- 
diately so  propitiative  and  sweetly  dependent — the 
antithesis  to  that  self-reliance  her  response  implied — 
he  thought  no  more  of  it,  but  remained  content  with 
her  reticence.  Half-shyly,  she  looked  at  him  beneath 
her  dark  lashes,  as  if  to  read  how  deeply  he  was  an- 
noyed, and,  seeing  his  face  clear,  laughed  lightly. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at,  mistress?"  he  said. 

"If  I  knew  I  could  tell,"  she  replied. 

Toward  sundown  on  the  fourth  day  they  came  to 
a  lonely  inn,  set  in  a  clearing  on  the  verge  of  a  forest. 
They  had  ridden  late  in  the  moonlight  the  night  be- 
fore, and  all  that  morning  and  afternoon  almost  with- 
out resting,  and  the  first  sight  of  the  solitary  hostelry 
was  not  unwelcome  to  the  weary  fugitives.  A  sec- 
ond inspection  of  the  place,  however,  awakened  mis- 
givings. The  building  seemed  the  better  adapted  for 
a  fortress  than  a  tavern,  being  heavily  constructed 
with  massive  doors  and  blinds,  and  loopholes  above. 
A  brightly  painted  sign,  The  Rooks'  Haunt,  waved 
cheerily,  it  is  true,  above  the  door,  as  though  to  disarm 
suspicion,  but  the  isolated  situation  of  the  inn,  and  the 


278  UNDERTHEROSE 

depressing  sense  of  the  surrounding  wilderness,  might 
well  cause  the  wayfarer  to  hesitate  whether  to  tarry 
there  or  continue  his  journey. 

A  glance  at  the  pale  face  and  unnaturally  bright 
eyes  of  the  girl  brought  the  jester,  however,  to  a  quick 
decision.  Springing  from  his  horse,  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  assist  her,  but,  overcome  by  weakness,  or 
fatigue,  she  would  have  fallen  had  he  not  sustained 
her.  Quickly  she  recovered,  and  with  a  faint  flush 
mantling  her  white  cheek,  withdrew  from  his  grasp, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  landlord  of  the  tavern  came 
forward  to  welcome  his  guests. 

In  appearance  mine  host  was  round  and  jovial ;  his 
bulk  bespoke  hearty  living;  his  rosy  face  reflected 
good  cheer;  his  stentorian  voice,  free-and-easy  hos- 
pitality. His  eyes  constituted  the  only  setback  to  this 
general  impression  of  friendliness  and  fellow-feeling; 
they  were  small,  twinkling,  glassy. 

"Good  even  to  you,  gentle  folk,"  he  said.  "You 
tarry  for  the  night,  I  take  it?" 

"If  you  have  suitable  accommodations,"  answered 
the  jester,  reassured  by  the  man's  aspect  and  man- 
ner. 

"The  Rooks'  Haunt  never  yet  turned  away  a  weary 
traveler,"  answered  the  landlord.  "You  come  from 
the  palace  ?" 


A   FIGURE   IN   MOONLIGHT    279 

"Yes,"  briefly,  as  a  lad  led  away  their  horses. 

"And  have  done  well  ?  Reaped  a  harvest  from  the 
merry  lords  and  ladies?" 

"There  were  many  others  there  for  that  purpose," 
returned  the  jester,  following  the  proprietor  to  the 
door  of  the  hostelry. 

"True.  Still  I'll  warrant  your  fair  companion 
cozened  the  silver  pieces  from  the  pockets  of  the  gen- 
try." And,  smiling  knowingly,  he  ushered  them  into 
the  principal  living  room  of  the  tavern. 

It  was  a  smoke-begrimed  apartment,  with  tables 
next  to  the  wall,  and  rough  chairs  and  benches  for  the 
guests.  Heavy  pine  rafters  spanned  the  ceiling;  the 
floor  was  sprinkled  with  sand;  from  a  chain  hung  a 
wrought-iron  frame  for  candles.  Upon  a  shelf  a  row 
of  battered  tankards,  suggesting  many  a  bout,  shone 
dully,  like  a  line  of  war-worn  troopers,  while  a  great 
pewter  pitcher,  the  worse  for  wear,  commanded  the 
disreputable  array. 

In  this  room  was  gathered  a  nondescript  company : 
mountebanks  and  buffoons ;  rogues  unclassified,  drink- 
ing and  dicing;  a  robust  vagrant,  at  whose  feet  slept 
a  performing  boar,  with  a  ring — badge  of  servitude — 
through  its  nose;  a  black-bearded,  shaggy-haired 
Spanish  troubadour,  with  attire  so  ragged  and  worn 
as  to  have  lost  its  erstwhile  picturesque  characteristics. 


UNDER   THE   ROSE 


This  last  far  from  prepossessing  worthy  half-started 
from  his  seat  upon  the  appearance  of  fool  and  jestress  ; 
stared  at  them,  and  then  resumed  his  place  and  the 
ballad  he  had  been  singing: 

"  Within  the  garden  of  Beaucaire 
He  met  her  by  a  secret  stair. 
Said  Aucassin,  'My  love,  my  pet, 
These  old  confessors  vex  me  so  ! 
They  threaten  all  the  pains  of  hell 
Unless  I  give  you  up,  ma  belief  — 
Said  Aucassin  to  Nicolette." 

Watching  the  nimble  fingers  of  the  shabby  minstrel 
with  pitiably  childish  expression  of  amusement,  a 
half-imbecile  morio  leaned  upon  the  table.  His  huge 
form,  for  he  was  a  giant  among  stalwart  men,  and  his 
great  moon-shaped  head  made  him  at  once  an  object 
hideous  and  miserable  to  contemplate.  But  the  poor 
creature  seemed  unaware  of  his  own  deformities,  and 
smiled  contentedly  and  patted  the  table  caressingly  to 
the  sprightly  rhythm. 

Gazing  upon  this  choice  assemblage,  the  plaisant 
was  vaguely  conscious  that  some  of  the  curious  and 
uncommon  faces  seemed  familiar,  and  the  picture  of 
the  Franciscan  monk  whom  they  had  overtaken  on  the 
road  recurred  to  him,  together  with  the  misgivings  he 
had  experienced  upon  parting  from  that  canting  knave. 


A   FIGURE   IN   MOONLIGHT    281 

He  half -expected  to  see  Nanette;  to  hear  her  voice, 
and  was  relieved  that  the  gipsy  on  this  occasion  did 
not  make  one  of  the  unwonted  gathering.  The  land- 
lord, observing  the  fool's  discriminating  gaze,  and 
reading  something  of  what  was  passing  in  his  mind, 
reassuringly  motioned  the  new-comers  to  an  unoccu- 
pied corner,  and  by  his  manner  sought  to  allay  such 
mistrust  as  the  appearance  of  his  guests  was  calculated 
to  inspire. 

"We  have  to  take  those  that  come,"  he  said,  depreca- 
torily.  "The  rascals  have  money.  It  is  as  good  as 
any  lord's.  Besides,  whate'er  they  do  without,  here 
must  they  behave.  And — for  their  credit — they  are 
docile  as  children ;  ruled  by  the  cook's  ladle.  You 
will  find  that,  though  there  be  ill  company,  you  will 
partake  of  good  fare.  If  I  say  it  myself,  there's  no 
better  master  of  the  flesh  pots  outside  of  Paris  than 
at  this  hostelry.  The  rogues  eat  as  well  as  the  king's 
gentlemen.  Feasting,  then  fasting,  is  their  precept." 

"At  present  we  have  a  leaning  for  the  former,  good 
host,"  carelessly  answered  the  fool.  "Though  the  lat- 
ter will,  no  doubt,  come  later." 

"For  which  reason  it  behooves  a  man  to  eat,  drink 
and  be  merry  while  he  may,"  retorted  the  other. 
"What  say  you  to  a  carp  on  the  spit,  with  shallots, 
and  a  ham  boiled  with  pistachios?" 


UNDER   THE   ROSE 


"The  ham,  if  it  be  ready.  Our  appetites  are  too 
sharp  to  wait  for  the  fish." 

"Then  shall  you  have  with  it  a  cold  teal  from  the 
marshes,  and  I'll  warrant  such  a  repast  as  you  have 
not  tasted  this  many  a  day.  Because  a  man  lives  in  a 
retired  spot,  it  does  not  follow  he  may  not  be  an  epi- 
cure," he  went  on,  "and  in  my  town  days  I  was  con- 
sidered a  good  fellow  among-  gourmands."  His  eyes 
twinkled;  he  studied  the  new-comers  a  moment,  and 
then  vanished  kitchenward. 

His  self-praise  as  a  provider  of  creature  comforts 
proved  not  ill  deserved  ;  the  viands,  well  prepared, 
were  soon  set  before  them;  a  serving  lad  filled  their 
glasses  from  a  skin  of  young  but  sound  wine  he  bore 
beneath  his  arm,  and,  under  the  influence  of  this  cheer, 
the  young  girl's  cheek  soon  lost  its  pallor.  In  the  past 
she  had  become  accustomed  to  rough  as  well  as  gentle 
company  ;  so  now  it  was  disdain,  not  fear,  she  experi- 
enced in  that  uncouth  gathering;  the  same  sort  of 
contempt  she  had  once  so  openly  expressed  for  Master 
Rabelais,  whipper-in  for  all  gluttons,  wine-bibbers  and 
free-livers. 

As  the  darkness  gathered  without,  the  merriment  in- 
creased within.  Over  the  scene  the  dim  light  cast  an 
uncertain  luster.  Indefatigably  the  dicers  pursued 
their  pastime,  with  now  and  then  an  audible  oath,  or 


A   FIGURE   IN   MOONLIGHT    283 

muttered  imprecation,  which  belied  that  docility  mine 
host  had  boasted  of.  The  troubadour  played  and  the 
morio  yet  listened.  Several  of  a  group  who  had  been 
singing  now  sat  in  sullen  silence.  Suddenly  one  of 
them  muttered  a  broken  sentence  and  his  fellows  im- 
mediately turned  their  eyes  toward  the  corner  where 
were  fool  and  jestress.  This  ripple  of  interest  did  not 
escape  the  young  girl's  attention,  who  said  uneasily : 

"Why  do  those  men  look  at  us?" 

"One  of  them  spoke  to  the  others,"  replied  the  jes- 
ter. "He  called  attention  to  something." 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  was  ?"  she  asked  curiously. 

"Gladius  gemmatus!"     ["The  jeweled  sword."] 

Whence  came  the  voice?  Near  the  couple,  in  a 
shadow,  sat  a  woebegone  looking  man  who  had  been 
holding  a  book  so  close  to  his  eyes  as  to  conceal  his 
face.  Now  he  permitted  the  volume  to  fall  and  the 
jester  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  as  he  looked 
upon  those  pinched,  worn,  but  well-remembered  fea- 
tures. 

"The  scamp-student!"  he  said. 

Immediately  the  reader  buried  his  head  once  more 
behind  the  book  and  spoke  aloud  in  Latin  as  though' 
quoting  some  passage  which  he  followed  with  his 
finger:  "Did  you  understand?" 


284  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Yes,"  answered  the  plaisant,  apparently  speaking 
to  the  jestress,  whose  face  wore  a  puzzled  expression. 

The  scamp-student  laid  the  volume  on  the  table. 
"These  men  are  outlaws  and  intend  to  kill  you  for 
your  jeweled  sword,"  he  continued  in  the  language  of 
Horace. 

"Why  do  you  tell  me  this?"  asked  the  fool  in  the 
same  tongue,  now  addressing  directly  the  scholar. 

"Because  you  spared  my  life  once;  I  would  serve 
you  now." 

"What's  all  this  monk's  gibberish  about?"  cried  an 
angry  voice,  as  the  master  of  the  boar  stepped  toward 
them. 

"A  discussion  between  two  scholars,"  readily  an- 
swered the  scamp-student. 

"Why  don't  you  talk  in  a  language  we  understand  ?" 
grumbled  the  man. 

"Latin  is  the  tongue  of  learning,"  was  the  humble 
response. 

"I  like  not  the  sound  of  it,"  retorted  the  other,  as  he 
retired.  From  a  distance,  however,  he  continued  to 
cast  suspicious  glances  in  their  direction.  Bewil- 
dered, the  girl  looked  from  one  of  the  alleged  contro- 
verters  to  the  other.  Who  was  this  starveling  the 
jester  seemed  to  know?  Again  were  they  conversing 


A   FIGURE   IN   MOONLIGHT    285 

in  the  language  of  the  monastery,  and  their  colloquy 
led  to  a  conclusion  as  unexpected  as  it  was  startling. 

"What  if  we  leave  the  inn  now?"  asked  the  jester. 

"They  would  prevent  you." 

"Who  is  the  leader?" 

"The  man  with  the  boar,"  answered  the  scamp- 
student.  "But  it  is  the  morio  who  usually  kills  their 
victims." 

The  jester  glanced  at  the  colossal  monster,  repug- 
nant in  deformity,  and  then  at  the  girl,  who  was  tap- 
ping impatiently  on  the  table  with  her  white  fingers. 
The  fool's  color  came  and  went ;  what  human  strength 
might  stand  against  that  frightful  prodigy  of  nature? 

"Is  there  no  way  to  escape?"  he  asked. 

"Alas!  I  can  but  warn;  not  advise,"  said  the 
scholar.  "Already  the  leader  suspects  me." 

A  half-shiver  ran  through  him.  In  the  presence 
of  actual  and  seemingly  assured  death  he  had  ap- 
peared calm,  resigned,  a  Socrates  in  temperament; 
before  the  mere  prospect  of  danger  the  apprehensive 
thief-and-fugitive  elements  of  his  nature  uprose.  He 
would  meet,  when  need  be,  the  grim-visaged  monster 
of  dissolution  with  the  dignity  of  a  stoic,  but  by  habit 
disdained  not  to  dodge  the  shadow  with  the  practised 
agility  of  a  filcher  and  scamp.  So  the  lower  part  of 


286 


his  moral  being  began  to  cower;  he  glanced  furtively 
at  the  company. 

"Yes ;  I  am  sure  I  have  put  my  own  neck  in  it,"  he 
muttered.  "I  must  devise  a  way  to  save  it.  I  have 
it.  We  must  seem  to  quarrel."  And  rising,  he  closed 
his  book  deliberately. 

"Fool !"  he  said  in  a  sharp  voice.  "Your  argument 
is  as  scurvy  as  your  Latin.  Thou,  a  philosopher !  A 
bookless,  shallow  dabbler!  So  I  treat  you  and  your 
reasonings !" 

Whereupon,  with  a  quick  gesture,  he  threw  the 
dregs  of  his  glass  in  the  face  of  the  jester.  So  sud- 
denly and  unexpectedly  was  it  done,  the  other  sprang 
angrily  from  his  seat  and  half  drew  his  sword.  A 
moment  they  stood  thus,  the  fool  with  his  hand 
menacingly  upon  the  hilt;  the  scamp-scholar  continu- 
ing to  confront  him  with  undiminished  volubility. 

"A  smatterer !  an  ignoramus !  a  dunce !"  he  repeated 
in  high-pitched  tones  to  the  amusement  of  the  com- 
pany. 

"Make  a  ring  for  the  two  monks,  my  masters," 
cried  the  man  with  the  boar.  "Then  let  each  state 
his  case  with  bludgeon  or  dagger." 

"With  bludgeon  or  dagger!"  echoed  the  excited 
voice  of  the  morio,  whose  appearance  had  undergone 
a  transformation.  The  indescribable  vacancy  with 


A   FIGURE  IN   MOONLIGHT    287 

which  he  had  listened  to  the  minstrel  was  replaced  by 
an  expression  of  revolting  malignity. 

The  jestress  half-arose,  her  face  once  more  white, 
her  dark  eyes  fastened  on  the  fool.  But  the  latter, 
realizing  the  purpose  of  the  affront,  and  the  actual 
service  the  scamp-student  had  rendered  him,  unex- 
pectedly thrust  back  his  blade. 

"I'll  not  fight  a  puny  bookworm,"  he  said,  and  re- 
sumed his  seat,  although  his  cheek  was  flushed. 

"You  bear  a  brave  sword,  fool,  for  one  so  loath  to 
draw,"  sneered  the  master  of  the  boar. 

Disappointed  at  this  tame  outcome  of  an  affair 
which  had  so  spirited  a  beginning,  the  company,  with 
derisive  scoffing  and  muttered  sarcasm,  resumed  their 
places ;  all  save  the  morio,  who  stood  glaring  upon  the 
jester. 

"Stab !  stab !"  he  muttered  through  his  dry  lips,  and 
at  that  moment  the  troubadour  played  a  few  chords  on 
his  instrument.  The  passion  faded  from  the  crea- 
ture's face;  quietly  he  turned  and  sought  the  chair 
nearest  to  the  minstrel. 

"Sing,  master,"  he  said. 

"Diable,  thou  art  an  insatiable  monster!"  grumbled^ 
the  troubadour. 

"Insatiable,"  smilingly  repeated  the  strange  being. 


288  UNDERTHEROSE 

1  'If  you  went  also,  ma  douce  miette! 
The  joys  of  heaven  I'd  forego 
To  have  you  with  me  there  below,'— 
Said  Aucassin  to  Nicolette." 

softly  sang  the  troubadour. 

Over  the  gathering  a  marked  constraint  appeared 
to  fall.  More  soberly  the  men  shook  their  dice;  the 
scamp-student  took  up  his  book,  but  even  Horace 
seemed  not  to  absorb  his  undivided  attention;  a 
mountebank  attempted  several  tricks,  but  failed  to 
amuse  his  spectators.  The  candles,  burning  low,  be- 
gan to  drip,  and  the  servant  silently  replaced  them. 
Beneath  lowering  brows  the  master  of  the  boar  mood- 
ily regarded  the  young  girl,  whose  face  seemed  cold 
and  disdainful  in  the  flickering  light.  The  plaisant 
addressed  a  remark  to  her,  but  she  did  not  answer, 
and  silently  he  watched  the  shadow  on  the  floor,  of 
the  chandelier  swinging  to  and  fro,  like  a  waving 
sword. 

"Will  you  have  something  more,  good  fool?"  said 
the  insinuating  and  unexpected  voice  of  the  host  at 
the  plaisant's  elbow. 

"Nothing." 

"You  were  right  not  to  draw,"  continued  the  boni- 
face  with  a  sharp  look.  "What  could  a  jester  do  with 


289 

the  blade?  I'll  warrant  you  do  not  know  how  to  use 
it?" 

"Nay,"  answered  the  fool;  "I  know  how  to  use  it 
not — and  save  my  neck." 

Mine  host  nodded  approvingly.  "Ha !  a  merry  fel- 
low," he  said.  "Come ;  drink  again.  'Twill  make  you 
sleep." 

"I  have  better  medicine  than  that,"  retorted  the 
jester,  and  yawned. 

"Ah,  weariness.  I'll  warrant  you'll  rest  like  a  log," 
he  added,  as  he  moved  away. 

At  that  some  one  who  had  been  listening  laughed, 
but  the  fool  did  not  look  up.  A  great  clock  began 
to  strike  with  harsh  clangor  and  Jacqueline  suddenly 
arose.  At  the  same  time  the  minstrel,  stretching  his 
arms,  strolled  to  the  door  and  out  into  the  open  air. 

"Good-night,  mistress,"  said  the  harsh  voice  of  the 
master  of  the  boar,  as  his  glittering  eyes  dwelt  upon 
Her  graceful  figure. 

The  girl  responded  coldly,  and,  amid  a  hush  from 
the  company,  made  her  way  to  the  stairs,  which  she 
slowly  mounted,  preceded  by  the  lad  who  had  waited 
upon  them,  and  followed  by  the  jester. 

"A  craven  fellow  for  so  trim  a  maid,"  continued  he 
of  the  boar,  as  they  disappeared.  "She  has  eyes  like 


290  UNDERTHEROSE 

friar's  lanterns.  What  a  decoy  she'd  make  for  the 
lords  in  Paris!" 

"Yes,"  assented  the  landlord,  "a  pitfall  to  pill  'em 
and  poll  'em." 

At  the  end  of  the  passage  the  guide  of  jestress  and 
fool  paused  before  a  door.  "Your  room,  mistress," 
he  said.  "And  yonder  is  yours,  Master  Jester." 
Then  placing  the  candle  on  a  stand  and  vouchsafing 
no  further  words,  he  shuffled  off  in  the  darkness,  leav- 
ing the  two  standing  there. 

"Lock  your  door  this  night,  Jacqueline,"  whispered 
the  fool. 

"You  submit  over-easily  to  an  affront,"  was  her 
scornful  retort,  turning  upon  the  jester. 

"Perhaps,"  he  replied,  phlegmatically.  "Yet  for- 
get not  the  bolt." 

"It  were  more  protection  than  you  are  apt  to  prove," 
she  answered,  and,  quickly  entering  the  room  closed 
hard  the  door. 

A  moment  he  stood  in  indecision;  then  rapped 
lightly. 

"Jacqueline,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Jacqueline !" 

The  bolt  shot  sharply  into  place,  fastening  the  door. 
No  other  response  would  she  make,  and  the  jester, 


A  FIGURE  IN  MOONLIGHT    291 

after  waiting  in  vaui  for  her  to  speak,  turned  and 
made  his  way  to  his  own  chamber,  adjoining  hers. 

Weary  as  the  young  girl  was,  she  did  not  retire  at 
once,  but  going  to  the  window,  threw  wide  open  the 
blinds.  Bright  shone  the  moon,  and,  leaning  forth, 
she  gazed  upon  clearing  and  forest  sleeping  beneath 
the  soft  glamour.  A  beautiful,  yet  desolate  scene,  with 
not  a  living  object  visible — yes,  one,  and  she  suddenly 
drew  back,  for  there,  motionless  in  the  full  light,  and 
gazing  steadfastly  toward  her  room,  stood  a  figure  in 
whom  she  recognized  the  Spanish  troubadour. 


CHAPTER   XX 

AN    UNEQUAL   CONFLICT 

Surveying  his  room  carefully  in  the  dim  light  of  a 
candle,  the  fool  discovered  he  stood  in  a  small  apart- 
ment, with  a  single  window,  whose  barren  furnishings 
consisted  of  a  narrow  couch,  a  chair  and  a  massive 
wardrobe.  Unlike  the  chamber  assigned  to  Jacque- 
line, the  door  was  without  key  or  bolt;  a  significant 
fact  to  the  jester,  in  view  of  the  warning  he  had  re- 
ceived. Nor  was  it  possible  to  move  wardrobe  or  bed, 
the  first  being  too  heavy  and  the  last  being  screwed 
to  the  floor,  had  the  occupant  desired  to  barricade  him- 
self from  the  anticipated  danger  without.  A  number 
of  suspicious  stains  enhanced  the  gruesome  character 
of  the  room,  and  as  these  appeared  to  lead  to  the 
wardrobe,  the  jester  carried  his  investigation  to  a 
more  careful  survey  of  that  imposing  piece  of  furni- 
ture. Opening  the  door,  although  he  could  not  find 
the  secret  of  the  mechanism,  the  fool  concluded  that 
the  floor  of  this  ponderous  wooden  receptacle  was  a 

292 


293 

trap  through  which  the  body  of  the  victim  could  be 
secretly  lowered. 

This  brief  exploration  of  his  surroundings  occu- 
pied but  a  few  moments,  and  then,  after  blowing  out 
the  candle  and  heaping  the  clothes  together  on  the 
bed  into  some  resemblance  of  a  human  figure  lying 
there,  the  jester  drew  his  sword  and  softly  crept  down 
the  passage  toward  the  stairs,  at  the  head  of  which 
he  paused  and  listened.  He  could  hear  the  voices  and 
see  the  shadows  of  the  men  below,  and,  with  beating 
heart,  descended  a  few  steps  that  he  might  catch  what 
they  were  saying.  Crouching  against  the  wall,  with 
bated  breath,  he  heard  first  the  landlord's  tones. 

"Well,  rogues,  what  say  you  to  another  sack  of 
wine?"  asked  the  host,  cheerily. 

"It  will  serve — while  we  wait,"  ominously  answered 
the  master  of  the  boar. 

"Haven't  we  waited  long  enough?"  said  an  impa- 
tient voice. 

"Tut!  tut!  young  blood,"  growled  another,  re- 
provingly. "Would  you  disturb  him  at  his  prayers  ?" 

"The  landlord  is  right,"  spoke  up  the  leader.  "We 
have  the  night  before  us.  Bring  the  wine." 

In  stentorian  tones  the  host  called  the  serving-man, 
and  soon  from  the  clinking  of  cups,  the  clearing  of 
throats,  and  tKe  exclamations  of  satisfaction,  foully 


294  UNDERTHEROSE 

expressed,  the  listening  jester  knew  that  the  «k!rt  had 
been  circulated  and  the  tankards  filled.  One  man 
even  began  to  sing  again  an  equivocal  song,  but  was 
stopped  by  a  warning  imprecation  to  which  he  ill- 
naturedly  responded  with  a  half-defiant  curse. 

"Knaves!  knaves!"  cried  the  reproachful  voice  of 
the  landlord.  "Can  you  not  drink  together  like  hon- 
est men  ?" 

This  mild  expostulation  of  the  host  seemed  not 
without  its  effect,  for  the  impending  quarrel  passed 
harmlessly  away. 

"Where,  think  you,  he  got  the  sword?"  asked  one 
of  the  gathering,  reverting  to  the  enterprise  in  hand. 

"Stole  it,  most  likely,"  replied  the  leader.  "It  is 
booty  from  the  palace." 

"And  therefore  is  doubly  fair  spoils,"  laughed  an- 
other. 

"Remember,  rogues,"  interrupted  the  host,  "one- 
third  is  my  allotted  portion.  Else  we  fall  out." 

"Art  so  solicitous,  thou  corpulent  scrimp !"  grum- 
bled he  of  the  boar.  "Have  you  not  always  had  the 
hulking  share?  Pass  the  wine !" 

"Foul  names  break  no  bones,"  laughed  the  host. 
"You  were  always  a  churlish,  ungentle  knave.  There's 
the  wine,  an  it's  not  better  than  your  temper,  be- 


AN   UNEQUAL   CONFLICT      295 

shrew  me  for  the  enemy  of  true  hospitality.  But  to 
show  I  am  none  such,  here's  something  to  sup  withal ; 
prime  head  of  calf.  Bolt  and  swig,  as  ye  will." 

The  rattle  of  dishes  and  the  play  of  forks  succeeded 
this  good-natured  suggestion.  It  was  truly  evident 
mine  host  commanded  the  good  will  and  the  services 
of  the  band  by  appealing  to  their  appetites.  An  escu- 
lent roast  or  pungent  stew  was  his  cure  for  uprising 
or  rebellion;  a  high-seasoned  ragout  or  fricassee  be- 
came a  sovereign  remedy  against  treachery  or  defec- 
tion. He  could  do  without  them,  for  knaves  were 
plentiful,  but  they  could  not  so  easily  dispense  with 
this  fat  master  of  the  board  who  had  a  knack  in  turn- 
ing his  hand  at  marvelous  and  savory  messes,  for 
which  he  charged  such  full  reckoning  that  his  third  of 
the  spoils,  augmented  by  subsequent  additions,  was 
like  to  become  all. 

A  wave  of  anger  against  this  unwieldy  hypocrite  and 
well-fed  malefactor  swept  over  the  jester.  The  man's 
assumed  heartiness,  his  manner  of  joviality  and  good- 
fellowship,  were  only  the  mask  of  moral  turpitude  and 
blackest  purpose.  But  for  the  lawless  scholar,  the 
fool  would  probably  have  retired  to  his  bed  with  full 
confidence  in  the  probity  and  honesty  of  the  greatest 
delinquent  of  them  all. 


296  UNDERTHEROSE 

"What  shall  we  do  with  the  girl?"  asked  one  of  the 
outlaws,  interrupting  this  trend  of  thought  in  the 
listener's  mind. 

"Serve  her  the  same  as  the  fool,"  answered  the  land- 
lord, carelessly. 

"But  she's  a  handsome  wench,"  retorted  the  leader, 
thoughtfully.  "Straight  as  a  poplar;  eyes  like  a  sloe. 
With  the  boar  and  the  jade,  I  should  do  well,  when  I 
become  tired  resting  here." 

"If  she's  as  easily  tamed  as  the  boar  ?"  suggested  the 
host,  significantly. 

"Devil  take  me,  if  her  nails  are  as  long  as  his  tusks," 
retorted  the  follow,  with  a  coarse  laugh. 

"An  I  had  a  hostelry  in  town,  she  could  bait  the 
nobles  thither,"  commented  the  host,  thoughtfully. 

"Give  her  to  the  scamp-student,"  remarked  the  fel- 
low who  had  first  spoken. 

"Nay,  since  Nanette  ran  off  with  a  street  singer 
and  left  me  spouseless,  I  have  made  a  vow  of  celi- 
bacy," hastily  answered  the  piping  voice  of  the  lank 
scholar. 

A  series  of  loud  guffaws  greeted  the  scamp-stu- 
dent's declaration,  while  the  subsequent  rough  humor 
of  the  knaves  made  the  listener's  cheek  burn  with 
indignation.  Yet  forced  to  listen  he  was,  knowing 
that  the  slightest  movement  on  his  part  would  quickly 


AN   UNEQUAL    CONFLICT      297 

seal  the  fate  of  himself  and  the  young  girl.  But  every 
fiber  of  his  being  revolted  against  that  ribald  talk ;  he 
bit  his  lip  hard,  hearing  her  name  bandied  about  by 
miscreants  and  wretches  of  the  lowest  type,  and  even 
welcomed  a  startling  change  in  the  discourse,  occa- 
sioned by  the  leader. 

"Enough,  rogues.  We  must  settle  with  the  jester 
first.  Afterward,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  deal  with 
the  maid.  Hast  done  feeding  and  tippling  yet, 
morio  ?" 

"Yes,  master,"  said  the  suspiciously  muffled  voice 
of  the  imbecile. 

"Here's  the  knife  then.  You  shall  have  another 
tankard  when  you  come  back." 

"Another  tankard!"  muttered  the  creature. 

At  these  significant  words,  knowing  that  the  crucial 
moment  had  come,  the  jester  retreated  rapidly,  and, 
making  his  way  down  the  passage,  stood  in  a  dark 
corner  near  his  room.  As  of  one  accord  the  voices 
ceased  below ;  a  heavy  creaking  announced  the  ap- 
proach of  the  morio;  nearer  and  nearer,  first  on  the 
stairs,  then  in  the  upper  corridor.  From  where  he 
remained  concealed  the  fool  dimly  discerned  the  figure 
of  the  would-be  assassin. 

At  the  door  of  the  jestress'  room  it  paused.  The 
fool  lifted  his  blade ;  the  form  passed  on.  Before  the 


298  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

chamber  of  the  plaisant  its  movements  became  more 
stealthy ;  it  bent  and  listened.  Should  the  jester  spring 
upon  it  now?  A  strange  loathing  made  him  hesitate, 
and,  before  he  had  time  to  carry  his  purpose  into  ex- 
ecution, the  creature,  throwing  aside  further  pretense 
of  caution,  swung  back  the  door  and  launched  himself 
across  the  apartment.  A  heavy  blow,  swiftly  fol- 
lowed by  another;  afterward,  the  stillness  of  death. 

Every  moment  the  jester  expected  an  outcry ;  the 
announcement  of  the  fruitlessness  of  the  attack,  but 
the  morio  made  no  sound.  The  silence  became  op- 
pressive; the  plaisant  felt  almost  irresistibly  impelled 
toward  that  terrible  chamber,  when  with  heavy,  lum- 
bering step,  the  creature  reappeared,  traversed  the 
hall  like  a  huge  automaton  and  mechanically  descended 
the  stairs.  Recovering  from  his  surprise,  the  fool 
again  resumed  his  position  commanding  the  scene  be- 
low, and  breathlessly  awaited  the  sequel  to  the  sin- 
gular pantomime  he  had  witnessed. 

"Well,  is  it  done?"  asked  the  harsh  voice  of  the 
master  of  the  boar. 

"Yes ;  done !"  was  the  submissive  answer. 

"Good!     Now  to  get  the  sword." 

"Not  so  fast,"  broke  in  the  landlord.  "Do  you 
kill,  morio,  without  drawing  blood?  Look  at  his 
dagger." 


AN   UNEQUAL    CONFLICT      299 

The  leader  took  the  blade,  examined  it,  and  then 
began  to  call  down  curses  on  the  head  of  the  imbecile 
monster.  "Clean,  save  for  a  thread  of  cotton,"  he 
cried  angrily.  "You  never  went  near  him." 

"Yes,  yes,  master!"  replied  the  creature,  eagerly. 

"Then,  perhaps,  you  strangled  him?"  suggested  the 
man. 

"No ;  stab !  stab !"  reiterated  the  morio,  in  an  almost 
imploring  tone,  shrinking  from  the  glances  cast  upon 
him. 

"Bah !  You  stabbed  the  bed,  fool ;  not  the  man," 
roughly  returned  the  other.  "The  rogue  has  guessed 
our  purpose  and  left  the  room,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing the  others.  "But  he's  skulking  somewhere. 
Well,  knaves,  here's  a  little  coursing  for  us  all.  Up 
with  you,  morio,  and  find  him.  Perhaps,  though,  he 
may  prefer  to  come  down."  And  the  Leader  called 
out:  "Give  yourself  up,  rascal,  or  it  will  be  the 
worse  for  you." 

To  this  paradoxical  threat  no  answer  was  returned. 
Standing  in  the  shadow  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  the 
jester  only  gripped  tighter  the  hilt  of  the  coveted 
sword,  while  across  his  vision  flashed  the  picture  of 
the  young  girl,  left  helpless,  alone!  What  mercy 
would  they  show  ?  The  coarse  words  of  the  master  of 
the  boar  and  the  gibing,  loose  responses  of  the  com- 


300  UNDERTHEROSE 

pany  recurred  to  him,  and,  setting  his  jaw  firmer,  the 
plaisant  peered,  with  gleaming  eyes,  down  into  the 
semi-gloom. 

"You  won't  answer?"  cried  the  leader,  after  a  short 
interval.  "Smell  him  out  then,  rogues." 

Knife  in  hand,  the  others  at  his  heels,  the  morio 
slowly  made  his  way  up  the  stairs.  Goaded  by  the 
taunts  of  the  outlaws,  his  face  was  distorted  with 
ferocity;  through  his  lips  came  a  fierce,  sibilant 
breathing;  in  the  dim  light  his  colossal  figure  and 
enormous  head  seemed  in  no  wise  human,  but  rather 
a  murderous  phantasm.  With  head  rolling  from  side 
to  side,  stabbing  in  the  air  with  his  knife,  he  con- 
tinued to  approach, — an  object  calculated  to  strike  ter- 
ror into  any  breast. 

"Oh!  oh!"  murmured  a  voice  behind  the  jester, 
and,  turning,  he  saw  Jacqueline.  Disturbed  by  the 
tumult  and  the  loud  voices,  the  jestress  had  left  her 
room  to  learn  the  cause  of  the  unusual  din,  and  now, 
with  her  dark  hair  a  cloud  around  her,  stood  gazing 
fearfully  over  the  fool's  shoulder. 

At  the  sound  of  the  young  girl's  voice,  so  near,  the 
plaisant's  hand,  which  for  the  moment  had  been  un- 
steady, became  suddenly  steel.  Almost  impatiently 
he  awaited  the  coming  of  the  morio;  at  last  he  drew 
near,  but,  as  if  instinctively  realizing  the  presence  of 


AN   UNEQUAL    CONFLICT      301 

danger,  paused,  his  arm  ceasing  to  strike,  but  remain- 
ing stationary  in  the  air. 

"Go  on!"  impatiently  shouted  those  behind  him. 

At  the  command  the  creature  sprang  forward  furi- 
ously, when  the  sword  of  the  jester  shot  out;  once, 
twice!  From  the  morio's  grip  fell  the  dagger;  over 
his  face  the  lust  for  killing  was  replaced  by  a  look  of 
surprise;  with  a  single  moan,  he  threw  both  arms  on 
high,  and,  tottering  like  an  oak,  the  monster  fell  back- 
ward with  a  crash,  carrying  with  him  the  rogues  be- 
hind. Imprecations,  threats  and  cries  of  pain  ensued ; 
several  knaves  went  limping  away  from  the  struggling 
group;  one  lay  prostrate  as  the  morio  himself;  the 
master  of  the  boar  rubbed  his  shoulder,  anathematizing 
roundly  the  cause  of  the  disaster. 

"I  think  my  arm's  put  out !"  he  said.  "Is  the  crea- 
ture dead?"  he  added,  viciously. 

"Dead  as  a  herring,"  answered  the  landlord,  bend- 
ing over  the  motionless  figure. 

"Beshrew  me,  I  thought  the  jester  was  a  craven," 
growled  he  of  the  boar.  "What  does  it  mean  ?" 

"That  he  saw  the  snare  and  spread  another,"  re- 
plied the  host. 

"Go  back  to  your  room,  mistress,"  whispered  the 
plaisant  to  the  young  girl,  "and  lock  yourself  in." 

"Nay;  I'll  not  leave  you,"  she  replied.     "Do  you 


302  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

think  they  will  return?"  she  added  in  a  voice  she 
strove  to  make  firm. 

"I  am  certain  of  it.  Go,  I  beg  you — to  your  win- 
dow and  call  out.  It  is  a  slender  hope,  but  the  best 
we  have.  Fear  not ;  I  can  hold  the  stairs  yet  a  while." 

A  moment  she  hesitated,  then  glided  away.  At  the 
same  time  he  of  the  boar  grasped  a  sword  in  his  left 
hand,  and,  with  his  right  hanging  useless,  rushed  up 
the  stairs. 

"Oh,  there  you  are,  my  nimble  wit-cracker!"  he 
cried,  as  the  jester  stepped  boldly  out.  "  'Twas  a 
pretty  piece  of  foolery  you  played  on  the  monster  and 
us,  but  quip  for  quirk,  my  merry  wag!"  And,  so 
speaking,  he  directed  a  violent  thrust  which,  had  it 
taken  effect,  would,  indeed,  have  made  good  the  lead- 
er's threat. 

But  the  plaisant  stepped  aside,  the  blow  grazed  his 
shoulder,  while  his  own  blade,  by  a  rapid  counter, 
passed  through  the  throat  of  his  antagonist.  With  a 
shriek,  the  blood  gushing  from  the  wound,  the  master 
of  the  boar  fell  lifeless  on  the  stairs,  his  sword  clat- 
tering downward.  At  .that  gruesome  sight,  his  fel- 
lows paused  irresolute,  and,  seeing  their  indecision, 
the  jester  rushed  headlong  upon  them,  striking  fiercely, 
when  their  hesitation  turned  into  panic  and  the  knaves 


'AN   UNEQUAL    CONFLICT      303 

fairly  fled.  Below,  the  irate  landlord  stamped  and 
fumed,  cuffing  and  striking  as  he  moved  among  them 
with  threats  and  abuse. 

"White-livered  varlets!  Pigeon-hearted  rogues! 
Unmanned  by  a  motley  fool!  A  witling  the  lords 
beat  with  their  slippers !  Because  of  a  chance  blow 
against  an  imbecile,  or  a  disabled  man,  you  hesitate. 
A  fig  for  them!  What  if  they  be  dead?  The  spoil 
will  be  the  greater  for  the  rest." 

Thus  exhorted,  the  knaves  once  more  took  heart 
and  gathered  for  the  attack.  Glaves  were  provided 
for  those  in  front,  and  the  plaisant  waited,  grimly  de- 
termined, yet  liking  little  the  aspect  of  those  terrible 
weapons  and  feeling  the  end  of  the  unequal  contest 
was  not  far  distant,  when  a  light  hand  was  laid  on  his 
arm. 

"Follow  me  quickly,"  said  Jacqueline.  "We  may 
yet  escape.  Don't  question  me,  but  come!"  she  went 
on  hurriedly. 

Impressed  by  her  earnestness,  the  jester,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  obeyed.  She  led  him  to  her  room, 
closed  and  locked  the  door — but  not  before  a  scamper- 
ing of  feet  and  sound  of  voices  told  them  the  rogues 
had  gained  the  upper  passage — and  drew  him  hastily 
to  the  window. 


304  UNDERTHEROSE 

"See,"  she  said  eagerly.     "A  ladder!" 

"And  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  our  horses !"  he  ex- 
claimed, in  surprise.  "Who  has  done  this  ?" 

Her  response  was  interrupted  by  a  hand  at  their 
door  and  a  clamor  without,  followed  by  heavy  blows. 

"Quick,  Jacqueline !"  he  cried,  and  helped  her  to  the 
long  ladder,  set,  as  it  seemed,  providentially  against 
the  wall. 

"Can  you  do  it?"  he  asked,  yet  holding  her  hand. 
Her  eyes  gave  him  answer,  and  he  released  her,  watch- 
ing her  descend. 

The  door  quivered  beneath  the  general  onslaught 
of  the  now  exultant  outlaws,  and,  as  a  glave  shattered 
the  panel  the  jester  threw  himself  over  the  casement. 
A  deafening  hubbub  ensued;  the  door  suddenly  gave 
way,  and  the  band  rushed  into  the  room.  At  the  same 
time  the  plaisant  ran  down  the  ladder  and  sprang  to 
the  ground  at  the  young  girl's  side.  From  above 
came  exclamations  of  wonder  and  amazement,  mingled 
with  invective. 

"They're  gone !"  cried  one. 

"Here  they  are!"  exclaimed  another,  looking  down 
from  the  window. 

The  jester  at  once  seized  the  means  of  descent,  but 
not  before  the  man  who  had  discovered  them  was  on 
the  upper  rounds ;  a  quick  effort  on  the  fool's  part,  and 


AN   UNEQUAL    CONFLICT      305 

ladder  and  rogue  toppled  over  together.  The  enter- 
prising knave  lay  motionless  where  he  fell. 

"Vrai  Dieu!  He  wanted  to  come  down,"  said  an 
approving  voice. 

Turning,  the  jester  beheld  the  Spanish  troubadour, 
who  was  composedly  engaged  in  placing  bundles  of 
straw  against  the  wall  of  the  inn. 

"I  don't  think  he'll  bother  you  any  more,"  contin- 
ued the  minstrel  in  his  deep  tones.  ''If  you'll  ride 
down  the  road,  I'll  join  you  in  a  moment." 

So  saying,  he  knelt  before  the  combustible  accumu- 
lation he  had  been  diligently  heaping  together  and 
struck  a  spark  which,  seizing  on  the  dry  material,  im- 
mediately kindled  into  a  great  flame. 

"What  are  you  doing,  villain?"  roared  the  landlord 
from  the  window,  discovering  the  forks  of  fire,  al- 
ready leaping  and  crackling  about  the  tavern. 

"Only  making  a  bonfire  of  a  foul  nest,"  lightly  an- 
swered the  minstrel,  standing  back  as  though  to  ad- 
mire his  handiwork.  "Your  vile  hostelry  burns  well, 
my  dissembling  host." 

"Hell-dog!  varlet!"  screamed  the  proprietor,  over- 
whelmed with  consternation. 

"Is  it  thus  you  greet  your  guests?"  replied  the 
troubadour,  throwing  another  bundle  of  straw  upon 
the  already  formidable  conflagration.  "You  were  not 
wont  to  be  so  discourteous,  my  prince  of  bonifaces." 


306  UNDERTHEROSE 

But  recovering  from  his  temporary  stupor,  the  land- 
lord, without  reply,  disappeared  from  the  window. 

"Now  may  we  safely  leave  the  flames  to  the  wind," 
commented  the  minstrel,  as  he  sprang  upon  a  small 
nag  which  had  been  fastened  to  a  shed  near  by.  "As 
we  have  burned  the  roof  over  our  heads,"  he  contin- 
ued, addressing  the  wondering  jester  and  his  com- 
panion, who  had  already  mounted  and  were  waiting, 
"let  us  seek  another  hostelry." 

Swiftly  the  trio  rode  forth  from  the  tavern  yard,  out 
into  the  moonlit  road. 

"Not  so  quickly,  my  friends,"  commented  the  trou- 
badour. "As  I  fastened  the  doors  and  blinds  without, 
we  may  proceed  leisurely,  for  it  will  be  some  time  be- 
fore mine  host  and  his  friends  can  batter  their  way 
from  the  inn.  Besides,  it  goes  against  the  grain  to 
run  so  precipitously  from  my  fire.  Such  a  beautiful 
auto  da  fe,  as  we  say  in  Spain." 

"Who  are  you,  sir?"  asked  the  fool. 

The  minstrel  laughed,  and  answered  in  his  natural 
voice. 

"Don't  you  know  me,  inon  ami?"  he  said,  gaily. 
"What  a  jest  this  will  be  at  court?  How  it  will  amuse 
the  king—*' 

"Caillette!"  exclaimed  the  plaisant,  loudly.  "Cail- 
lette!" 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE   DESERTED   HUT 

"Himself!"  laughed  the  minstrel.  "Did  I  not  tell 
you  I  should  become  a  Spanish  troubadour?"  Then, 
reaching  out  his  hand,  he  added  seriously:  "Right 
pleased  am  I  to  meet  you.  But  how  came  you  here  ?" 

"I  have  fled  from  the  keep  of  the  old  castle,  where 
I  lay  charged  with  heresy,"  answered  the  jester,  re- 
turning the  hearty  grip. 

"The  keep!"  exclaimed  Caillette  in  surprise.  "You 
are  fortunate  not  to  have  been  brought  to  trial,"  he 
added,  thoughtfully.  "Few  get  through  that  seine, 
and  his  Holiness,  the  pope,  I  understand,  has  ordered 
the  meshes  made  yet  smaller." 

They  had  paused  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  commanding 
the  view  of  road  and  tavern.  Dazed,  the  young  girl 
had  listened  to  the  greeting  between  the  two  men.  This 
ragged,  beard-begrown  troubadour,  the  graceful,  ele- 
gant Caillette  of  Francis'  court?  It  seemed  incred- 
ible. At  the  same  time,  through  her  mind  passed  the 

307 


308  UNDERTHEROSE 

memory  of  the  plaisant's  reiterated  exclamation  in 
prison:  "Caillette — in  Spain!" — words  she  had  at- 
tributed to  fever,  not  imagining  they  had  any  founda- 
tion in  fact. 

But  now  this  unexpected  encounter  abruptly  dis- 
pelled her  first  supposition  and  opened  a  new  field  for 
speculation.  Certainly  had  he  been  on  a  mission  of 
some  kind,  somewhere,  but  what  his  errand  she  could 
not  divine.  A  diplomat  in  tatters,  serving  a  fellow- 
jester.  Fools  had  oft  intruded  themselves  in  great 
events  ere  this,  but  not  those  who  wore  the  motley; 
heretofore  had  the  latter  been  content  with  the  posts 
of  entertainers,  leaving  to  others  the  more  precarious 
offices  of  intrigant. 

But  if  she  was  surprised  at  Caillette's  unexpected 
presence  and  disguise,  that  counterfeit  troubadour  had 
been  no  less  amazed  to  see  her,  the  joculatrix  of  the 
princess,  in  the  mean  garb  of  a  wayside  ministralissa, 
wandering  over  the  country  like  one  born  to  the  no- 
madic existence.  That  she  had  a  nature  as  free  as  air 
and  the  spirit  of  a  gipsy  he  well  believed,  but  that  she 
would  forego  the  security  of  the  royal  household  for 
the  discomforts  and  dangers  of  a  vagrant  life  he  could 
not  reconcile  to  that  other  part  of  her  character  which 
he  knew  must  shrink  from  the  actualities  of  the  strag- 


THE   DESERTED   HUT  309 

gler's  lot.  He  had  watched  her  at  the  inn;  how  she 
held  herself;  how  she  was  a  part  of,  and  yet  apart 
from,  that  migratory  company ;  and  what  he  had  seen 
had  but  added  to  his  curiosity. 

"Have  you  left  the  court,  mistress?"  he  now  asked 
abruptly. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  curtly. 

Caillette  gazed  at  her  and  her  eyes  fell.  Then  put 
out  with  herself  and  him,  she  looked  up  boldly. 

"Why  not  ?"  she  demanded. 

"Why  not,  indeed?"  he  repeated,  gently,  although 
obviously  wondering. 

The  constraint  that  ensued  between  them  was  broken 
by  a  new  aspect  of  the  distant  conflagration.  Fanned 
by  the  breeze,  the  flames  had  ignited  the  thatched  roof 
of  the  hostelry  and  fiery  forks  shot  up  into  the  sky, 
casting  a  fierce  glow  over  the  surrounding  scene. 
Through  the  glare,  many  birds,  unceremoniously 
routed  from  their  nests  beneath  the  eaves,  flew  dis- 
tractedly. Before  the  tavern,  now  burning  on  all 
sides,  could  be  distinguished  a  number  of  figures,  fran- 
tically running  hither  and  thither,  while  above  the 
crackling  of  the  flames  and  the  clamorous  cries  of  the 
birds  was  heard  the  voice  of  the  proprietor,  alternately 
pleading  with  the  knaves  to  save  the  tavern  and  ex-; 
ecrating  him  who  had  applied  the  torcH. 


310  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Cap  de  Dieu!  the  landlord  will  snare  no  more 
travelers,"  said  Caillette.  "My  horse  had  become 
road-worn  and  perforce  I  had  tarried  there  sufficient 
while  to  know  the  company  and  the  host.  When  you 
walked  in  with  this  fair  maid,  I  could  hardly  believe 
my  eyes.  'Twas  a  nice  trap,  and  the  landlord  an 
unctuous  fellow  for  a  villain.  Assured  that  you  could 
not  go  out  as  you  came,  I  e'en  prepared  a  less  conven- 
tional means  of  exit." 

He  had  scarcely  finished  this  explanation  when,  with 
a  shower  of  sparks  and  a  mighty  crash,  the  heavy  roof 
fell.  A  lambent  flame  burst  from  the  furnace;  grew 
brighter,  until  the  clouds  became  rose-tinted;  a  glory 
as  brilliant  as  short-lived,  for  soon  the  blaze  subsided, 
the  glow  swiftly  faded,  and  the  sky  again  darkened. 

"It  is  over,"  murmured  Caillette;  and,  as  they 
touched  their  horses,  leaving  the  smoldering  ruins 
behind  them,  he  added:  "But  how  came  the  scamp- 
student  to  serve  you?  I  was  watching  closely,  and 
listening,  too;  so  caught  how  'twas  done." 

"I  spared  his  life  once,"  answered  the  jester. 

"And  he  remembered?  'Tis  passing  strange  from 
such  a  rogue.  A  clever  device,  to  warn  you  in  Latin 
that  his  friends  intended  to  kill  one  or  both  of  you 
for  the  jeweled  sword." 


THE  DESERTED   HUT  311 

"Why,"  spoke  up  the  young  girl,  her  attention 
sharply  arrested,  "was  it  not  a  mere  discussion  of  some 
kind?  And — the  quarrel?" 

"A  pretense  on  the  rogue's  part  to  avert  the  sus- 
picion of  the  master  of  the  boar.  I  could  but  mar- 
vel"— to  the  jester — "at  your  forbearance." 

"I  fear  me  Jacqueline  had  the  right  to  a  poor  opinion 
of  her  squire,"  replied  the  duke's  fool.  "Nor  do  I 
blame  her,"  he  laughed,  "in  esteeming  a  stout  bolt 
more  protection  than  a  craven  blade." 

But  the  girl  did  not  answer.  Through  her  brain 
flashed  the  recollection  of  her  cold  disdain ;  her  scorn- 
ful words;  her  abrupt  dismissal  of  the  jester  at  her 
door.  Weighing  what  she  had  said  and  done  with 
what  he  had  not  said  and  done,  she  turned  to  him 
quickly,  impulsively.  Through  the  semi-darkness  she 
saw  the  smile  around  his  mouth  and  the  quizzical  look 
with  which  he  was  regarding  her.  Whereupon  her 
courage  failed.  She  bit  her  lip  and  remained  silent. 
They  had  now  passed  the  brow  of  the  hill;  on  each 
side  of  the  highway  the  forests  parted  wider  and  wider, 
and  the  thoroughfare  was  bathed  in  a  white  light. 

As  they  rode  along  on  this  clearly  illumined  high- 
way, Caillette  glanced  interrogatively  at  the  plaisant. 
The  outcome  of  his  journey — should  he  speak  now? 


312  UNDERTHEROSE 

Or  later — when  they  were  alone  ?  Heretofore  neither 
had  made  reference  to  it ;  Caillette,  perhaps,  because 
his  mind  had  been  surprised  into  another  train  of 
thought  by  this  unexpected  encounter;  the  duke's  fool 
because  the  result  of  the  journey  was  no  longer  mo- 
mentous. Since  the  other  had  left,  conditions  were 
different.  The  good-natured  scoffing  and  warnings 
of  his  fellow- jester  had  proved  not  unwarranted. 

The  answer  of  the  duke's  fool  to  his  companion's 
glance  was  a  direct  inquiry. 

"You  found  the  emperor  ?"  he  said. 

"Yes;  and  presented  your  message  with  some  mis- 
giving." 

"And  did  he  treat  it  with  the  scant  consideration 
you  expected?" 

"On  the  contrary.  His  Majesty  read  it  not  once, 
but  twice,  and  changed  color." 

"And  then?" 

The  narrator  paused  and  furtively  surveyed  the 
jestress.  Her  face  was  pale,  emotionless ;  as  they 
sped  on,  she  seemed  riding  through  no  volition  of  her 
own,  the  while  she  was  vaguely  conscious  of  the  dia- 
logue of  her  companions. 

"Whatever  magic  your  letter  contained,"  resumed 
Caillette,  "it  seemed  convincing  to  Charles.  'My 


THE   DESERTED   HUT  313 

brother  Francis  must  be  strangely  credulous  to  be  so 
cozened  by  an  impostor,'  quoth  he,  with  a  gleam  of 
humor  in  his  gaze." 

"Impostor !"  It  was  the  young  girl  who  spoke,  in- 
terrupting, in  her  surprise,  the  troubadour's  story. 

"You  did  not  know,  mistress  ?"  said  Caillette. 

"No,"  she  answered,  and  listened  the  closer. 

"When  I  left,  two  messages  the  emperor  gave  me," 
went  on  the  other;  "one  for  the  king,  the  other  for 
you."  And  taking  from  his  doublet  a  document, 
weighted  with  a  ponderous  disk,  the  speaker  handed 
it  to  the  duke's  fool,  who  silently  thrust  it  in  his  breast. 
"Moreover,  unexpectedly,  but  as  good  fortune  would 
have  it,  his  Majesty  was  even  then  completing  prepara- 
tions for  a  journey  through  France  to  the  Netherlands, 
owing  to  unlooked-for  troubles  in  that  part  of  his  do- 
mains, and  had  already  despatched  his  envoys  to  the 
king.  Charles  assured  me  that  he  would  still  further 
hasten  his  intended  visit  to  the  Low  Countries  and 
come  at  once.  Meanwhile  his  communication  to  the 
king" — tapping  his  breast — "will  at  least  delay  the 
nuptials,  and,  with  the  promise  of  the  emperor's  im- 
mediate arrival,  the  marriage  can  not  occur." 

"It  has  occurred,"  said  the  jester. 

The  other  uttered  a  quick  exclamation.     "Then  have 


314  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

I  failed  in  my  errand,"  he  muttered,  blankly.  "But 
the  king — had  he  no  suspicion  ?" 

"It  was  through  the  Countess  d'Etampes  the  mon- 
arch was  led  to  change  the  time  for  the  festivities," 
spoke  up  Jacqueline,  involuntarily. 

"She!"  exclaimed  the  poet,  with  a  gesture  of  half- 
aversion.  For  some  time  they  went  on  without  fur- 
ther words;  then  suddenly  Caillette  drew  rein. 

"This  news  makes  it  the  more  necessary  I  should 
hasten  to  the  king,"  he  said.  "The  emperor's  mes- 
sage— Francis  should  receive  it  at  once.  Here,  there- 
fore, must  I  leave  you.  Or,  why  do  you  not  return 
with  me?" — addressing  the  jester.  "The  letter  from 
Charles  will  exonerate  you  and  Francis  will  reward 
you  in  proportion  to  the  injuries  you  have  suffered. 
What  say  you,  mistress?" 

"That  I  will  never  go  back,"  she  answered,  briefly, 
and  looked  away. 

Caillette's  perplexity  was  relieved  by  the  plaisant. 
"Farewell,  if  you  must  leave,"  said  the  latter.  "We 
meet  again,  I  trust." 

"The  fates  willing,"  returned  the  poet.  "Farewell, 
and  good  fortune  go  with  you  both."  And  wheeling 
abruptly,  he  rode  slowly  back.  The  jester  and  the  girl 
watched  him  disappear  over  the  road  they  had  come. 


THE  DESERTED   HUT  315 

"A  true  friend,"  said  the  plaisant,  as  Caillette  van- 
ished in  the  gloom. 

"You  regret  not  returning  with  him,  perhaps  ?"  she 
observed  quickly.  "Honors  and  offices  of  preferment 
are  not  plentiful." 

"I  want  none  of  them  from  Francis,"  he  returned, 
as  they  started  slowly  on  their  way. 

The  road  before  them  descending  gradually,  passed 
through  a  gulch,  where  the  darkness  was  greater,  and 
such  light  as  sifted  through  the  larch  and  poplar 
trees  rested  in  variable  spots  on  the  earth.  Overhead 
the  somber  obscurity  appeared  touched  with  a  veil  of 
shimmer  or  sheen  like  diamond  dust  floating  through 
the  mask  of  night.  Their  horses  but  crept  along ;  the 
girl  bent  forward  wearily;  heretofore  the  excitement 
and  danger  had  sustained  her,  but  now  the  reaction 
from  all  she  had  endured  bore  down  upon  her.  She 
thought  of  calling  to  the  fool ;  of  craving  the  rest  she 
so  needed ;  but  a  feeling  of  pride,  or  constraint,  held  her 
silent.  Before  her  the  shadows  danced  illusively;  the 
film  of  brightness  changed  and  shifted ;  then  all  glim- 
mering and  partial  shade  were  swallowed  up  in  a  black 
chasm. 

Riding  near,  the  jester  observed  her  form  sway  from 
side  to  side,  and  spurred  forward.  In  a  moment  he 


316  UNDERTHEROSE 

had  clasped  her  waist,  then  lifted  her  from  the  saddle 
and  held  her  before  him. 

"Jacqueline!"  he  cried. 

She  offered  no  resistance;  her  head  remained  mo- 
tionless on  his  breast.  Sedulously  he  bent  over  her; 
the  warm  breath  reassured  him ;  tired  nature  had  sim- 
ply succumbed.  Irresolute  he  paused,  little  liking 
the  sequestered  gulch  for  a  resting-place ;  divining  the 
prickly  thicket  and  almost  impenetrable  brushwood 
that  lined  the  road.  An  unhealthy  miasma  seemed  to 
ascend  from  below  and  clog  the  air ;  through  the  tangle 
of  forest,  phosphorus  gleamed  and  glowworms  flitted 
here  and  there. 

Gathering  the  young  form  gently  to  him,  the  jester 
rode  slowly  on,  and  the  horse  of  his  companion  fol- 
lowed. So  he  went,  he  knew  not  how  long;  listening 
to  her  breathing  that  came,  full  and  deep ;  half- fearing, 
half-wondering  at  that  relaxation.  For  the  first  time 
he  forgot  about  the  emperor  and  his  purpose ;  the  free 
baron  and  the  desires  of  sweet  avengement.  He 
thought  only  of  her  he  held ;  how  courageous  yet  alone 
she  was  in  the  world ;  how  she  had  planned  the  serv- 
ice which  won  her  the  right  to  his  protection;  her 
flight  from  Francis — but  where?  To  whom  could  she 
go?  To  whom  could  she  turn?  Unconscious  she 


THE   DESERTED    HUT  317 

lay  in  his  arms  in  that  deep  sleep,  or  heavy  inertia 
following  exhaustion,  her  pale  face  against  his  shoul- 
der ;  and  as  the  young  plaisant  bent  over  her  his  heart 
thrilled  with  protecting  tenderness. 

"Why,  what  other  maid,"  he  thought,  "would  ride 
on  until  she  dropped?  Would  meet  discomfort  at 
every  turn  with  a  jest  or  a  merry  stave?" 

And,  but  for  him,  whom  else  had  she  ?  This  young 
girl,  had  she  not  become  his  burden  of  responsibility; 
his  moral  obligation?  For  the  first  time  he  seemed 
to  realize  how  the  fine  tendrils  of  her  nature  had 
touched  his;  touched  and  clung,  ever  so  gently  but 
fast.  Her  fine  scorn  for  dissimulation;  her  answer- 
ing integrity;  the  true  adjustment  of  her  instinct — all 
had  been  revealed  to  him  under  the  test  of  untoward 
circumstances. 

He  saw  her,  too,  secretly  and  silently  cherishing  a 
new  faith  in  her  bosom,  amid  a  throng,  lax  and  infirm 
of  purpose,  and  wonderment  gave  way  to  another  emo- 
tion, as  his  mind  leaped  from  that  past,  with  its  covert, 
inner  life,  to  the  untrammeled  moment  when  she  had 
thrown  off  the  mask  in  the  solitude  of  the  forest.  Had 
some  deeper  chord  of  his  nature  been  struck  then? 
Their  aspirations  of  a  kindred  hope  had  mingled  in 
the  majestic  psalm;  a  larger  harmony,  remote  from 


3i8  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

roundelay,  or  sparkling  cadenza,  that  drew  him  to  this 
Calvin  maid.  A  solemn  earnestness  fell  upon  his 
spirits ;  the  starlight  bathed  his  brow,  and  he  found  the 
mystery  of  the  night  and  nature  inexplicably  beau- 
tiful. 

Afar  the  bell  of  some  wanderer  from  the  herd  tin- 
kled drowsily,  arousing  him  from  his  reverie.  The 
horses  were  ascending ;  the  road  emerged  into  a  plain, 
set  with  bracken  and  gorse,  with  here  and  there  a 
single  tree,  whose  inclining  trunk  told  of  storms 
braved  for  many  seasons.  Near  the  highway,  in  the 
shadow  of  a  poplar,  stood  a  shepherd's  hut,  apparently 
deserted  and  isolated  from  human  kind.  The  fool 
reined  the  horse,  which  for  some  time  had  been  moving 
painfully,  and  at  that  abrupt  cessation  of  motion  the 
jestress  looked  up  with  a  start. 

i  Meeting  his  eyes,  at  first  she  did  not  withdraw  her 
own;  questioningly,  her  bewildered  gaze  encountered 
his;  then,  with  a  quick  movement,  she  released  her- 
self from  his  arm  and  sprang  to  the  ground.  He,  too, 
immediately  dismounted.  She  felt  very  wide-awake 
now,  as  though  the  sudden  consciousness  of  that  en- 
circling grasp,  or  something  in  his  glance  before  she 
slipped  from  him,  had  startled  away  the  torpor  of 
somnolence. 


THE   DESERTED   HUT  319 

"You  fainted,  or  fell  asleep,  mistress,"  he  said, 
quietly. 

"Yes — I  remember — in  the  gorge." 

"It  was  impossible  to  stop  there,  so — I  rode  on. 
But  here,  in  this  shepherd's  hut,  we  may  find  shelter." 

And  turning  the  horses,  he  would  have  led  them  to 
the  door,  but  the  animals  held  back ;  then  stood  stock- 
still.  Striding  to  the  hut,  the  jester  stepped  in,  but 
quickly  sprang  to  one  side,  and  as  he  did  so  some 
creature  shot  out  of  the  door  and  disappeared  in  the 
gloom. 

"A  wolf !"  exclaimed  the  plaisant. 

Entering  the  hut  once  more,  he  struck  a  light.  In 
a  corner  lay  furze  and  firewood,  and  from  this  store 
he  drew,  heaping  the  combustible  material  on  the 
hearth,  until  a  cheering  blaze  fairly  illumined  the  worn 
and  dilapidated  interior.  Near  the  fireplace  were  a 
pot  and  kettle,  whose  rusted  appearance  bespoke  long 
disuse;  but  a  trencher  and  porridge  spoon  on  a  stool 
near  by  seemed  waiting  the  coming  of  the  master.  A 
couch  of  straw  had  been  the  lonely  shepherd's  bed — 
and  later  the  lodgment  of  his  enemy,  the  wolf.  Above 
it,  on  the  wall,  hung  a  small  crucifix  of  wood.  For 
the  fugitives  this  mean  abode  appeared  no  indifferent 
shelter,  and  it  was  with  satisfaction  the  jester  arranged 
a  couch  for  the  girl,  before  the  fire,  a  rude  pallet,  yet — 


320  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Here  you  may  rest,  Jacqueline,  without  fear  of  be- 
ing disturbed  again  this  night,"  he  said. 

She  sank  wearily  upon  the  straw ;  then  gave  him  her 
hand  gratefully.  Her  face  looked  rosy  in  the  reflec- 
tion from  the  hearth;  a  comforting  sense  of  warmth 
crept  over  her  as  she  lay  in  front  of  the  blaze;  her 
eyes  were  languorous  with  the  luxury  of  the  heat  after 
a  chilling  ride.  Drawing  the  cloak  to  her  chin,  she 
smiled  faintly.  Was  it  at  his  solicitude?  He  noticed 
how  her  hair  swept  from  the  saddle  pillowing  her 
head,  to  the  earth ;  and,  sitting  there  on  the  stool,  won- 
dering, perhaps,  at  its  abundance,  or  half-dreaming,  he 
forgot  he  yet  held  her  hand.  Gently  she  withdrew  it, 
and  he  started ;  then,  realizing  how  he  had  been  star- 
ing at  her,  with  somewhat  vacant  gaze,  perhaps,  but 
fixedly,  he  made  a  motion  to  rise,  when  her  voice  de- 
tained him. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  it  was  not  a  discussion 
with  the  scamp-student?"  she  asked.  "Why  did  you 
let  me  imagine  that  you — "  Her  eyes  said  the  rest. 
"You  should  not  have  permitted  me  to — to  think  it," 
she  reiterated. 

He  was  silent.  She  closed  her  eyes;  but  in  a  mo- 
ment her  lashes  uplifted.  Her  glance  flashed  once 
more  upon  him. 

"And  I  should  not  have  thought  it,"  she  said. 


THE   DESERTED   HUT  321 

"Jacqueline !"  he  cried,  starting  up. 

She  did  not  answer;  indeed,  seemed  sleeping;  her 
face  turned  from  him. 

Through  the  open  doorway  a  streak  of  red  in  the 
east  heralded  the  coming  glory  of  the  morn.  "Peep, 
peep,"  twittered  a  bird  on  the  roof  of  the  hovel.  From 
the  poplar  it  was  answered  by  a  more  melodious 
phrase,  a  song  of  welcome  to  the  radiant  dawn.  A  mo- 
ment the  jester  listened,  his  head  raised  to  the  growing 
splendor  of  the  heavens,  then  threw  himself  on  the 
earthen  floor  of  the  hut  and  was  at  once  overcome  with 
sleep. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE   TALE   OF   THE   SWORD 

The  slanting  rays  of  the  sinking  sun  shot  athwart 
the  valley,  glanced  from  the  tile  roofs  of  the  homes 
of  the  peasantry,  and  illumined  the  lofty  towers  of  a. 
great  manorial  chateau.  To  the  rider,  approaching 
by  the  road  that  crossed  the  smiling  pasture  and 
meadow  lands,  the  edifice  set  on  a  mount — another  of 
Francis'  transformations  from  the  gloomy  fortress 
home — appeared  regal  and  splendid,  compared  with 
the  humbler  houses  of  the  people  lying  prostrate  be- 
fore it.  Viewed  from  afar,  the  town  seemed  to  abase 
itself  in  the  presence  of  the  architectural  preeminence 
of  that  monarch  of  buildings.  Even  the  sun,  when  it 
withdrew  its  rays  from  the  miscellaneous  rabble  of 
shops  and  dwellings,  yet  lingered  proudly  upon  the 
noble  structure  above,  caressing  its  imposing  and 
august  outlines  and  surrounding  it  with  the  glamour 
of  the  afterglow,  when  the  sun  sank  to  rest. 

Into  the  little  town,  at  the  foot  of  the  big  house,  rode 
shortly  before  nightfall  the  jester  and  his  companion. 

322 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  SWORD    323 

During  the  day  the  young  girl  had  seemed  diffident  and 
constrained;  she  who  had  been  all  vivacity  and  life, 
on  a  sudden  kept  silence,  or  when  she  did  speak,  her 
tongue  had  lost  its  sharpness.  The  weapons  of  her 
office,  bright  sarcasm  and  irony,  or  laughing  persiflage, 
were  sheathed ;  her  fine  features  were  thoughtful ;  her 
dark  eyes  introspective.  In  the  dazzling  sunshine,  the 
memory  of  their  ride  through  the  gorge ;  the  awakening 
at  the  shepherd's  hut ;  something  in  his  look  then,  some- 
thing in  his  accents  later,  when  he  spoke  her  name  while 
she  professed  to  sleep — seemed,  perhaps,  unreal, 
dream-like. 

His  first  greeting  that  morning  had  been  a  swift,  al- 
most questioning,  glance,  before  which  she  had  looked 
away.  In  her  face  was  the  freshness  of  dawn;  the 
grace  of  spring-tide.  Overhead  sang  a  lark ;  at  their 
feet  a  brook  whispered;  around  them  solitude,  vast, 
infinite.  He  spoke  and  she  answered ;  her  reserve  be- 
came infectious ;  they  ate  their  oaten  cakes  and  drank 
their  wine,  each  strongly  conscious  of  the  presence  of 
the  other.  Then  he  rose,  saddled  their  horses,  and 
assisted  her  to  mount.  She  appeared  over-anxious  to 
leave  the  shepherd's  hut;  the  jester,  on  the  other  hand, 
cast  a  backward  glance  at  the  poplar,  the  hovel,  the 
brook.  A  crisp,  clear  caroling  of  birds  followed  them 
as  they  turned  from  the  lonely  spot. 


324  UNDERTHEROSE 

So  they  rode,  pausing  betimes  to  rest,  and  even  then 
she  had  little  to  say,  save  once  when  they  stopped  at 
a  rustic  bridge  which  spanned  a  stream.  Both  were 
silent,  regarding  the  horses  splashing  in  the  water 
and  clouding  its  clear  depths  with  the  yellow  mud  from 
its  bed.  From  the  cool  shadows  beneath  the  planks 
where  she  was  standing,  tiny  fish,  disturbed  by  this 
unwonted  invasion,  shot  forth  like  darts  and  vanished 
into  the  opaque  patches.  Half-dreamily  watching  this 
exodus  of  flashing  life  from  covert  nook  and  hole,  she 
said  unexpectedly: 

"Who  is  it  that  has  wedded  the  princess  ?" 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  answer;  then  briefly  re- 
lated the  story. 

"And  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before?"  she 
asked  when  he  had  finished. 

"Would  you  have  credited  me — then?"  he  replied, 
with  a  smile. 

Quickly  she  looked  at  him.  Was  there  that  in  her 
eyes  which  to  him  robbed  memory  of  its  sting?  At 
their  feet  the  water  leaped  and  laughed ;  curled  around 
the  stones,  and  ran  on  with  dancing  bubbles.  Per- 
haps he  returned  her  glance  too  readily;  perhaps  the 
recollection  of  the  ride  the  night  before  recurred  over- 
vividly  to  her,  for  she  gazed  suddenly  away,  and  he 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  SWORD     325 

wondered  in  what  direction  her  thoughts  tended,  when 
she  said  with  some  reserve : 

"Shall  we  go  on?" 

They  had  not  long  left  the  brook  and  the  bridge, 
when  from  afar  they  caught  sight  of  the  regal  chateau 
and  the  clustering  progeny  of  red-roofed  houses  at  its 
base.  At  once  they  drew  rein. 

"Shall  we  enter  the  town,  or  avoid  it  by  riding  over 
the  mead  ?"  said  the  plaimnt. 

"What  danger  would  there  be  in  going  on?"  she 
asked.  "Whom  might  we  meet  ?" 

Thoughtfully  he  regarded  the  shining  towers  of  the 
royal  residence.  "No  one,  I  think,"  he  at  length  re- 
plied, and  they  went  on. 

;  Around  the  town  ran  a  great  wall,  with  watch- 
towers  and  a  deep  moat,  but  no  person  questioned 
their  right  to  the  freedom  of  the  place ;  a  sleepy  soldier 
at  the  gate  merely  glancing  indifferently  at  them  as 
they  passed  beneath  the  heavy  archway.  Gabled 
houses,  with  a  tendency  to  incline  from  the  perpen- 
dicular, overlooked  the  winding  street;  dull,  round 
panes  of  glass  stared  at  them,  fraught  with  mys- 
tery and  the  possibility  of  spying  eyes  behind ;  but  the 
thoroughfare  in  that  vicinity  appeared  deserted,  save 
for  an  old  woman  seated  in  a  doorway.  Before  this 


326  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

grandam,  whose  lack-luster  eyes  were  fastened  stead- 
fastly before  her,  the  fool  paused  and  asked  the  di- 
rection of  the  inn. 

"Follow  your  nose,  if  nature  gave  you  a  straight 
one,"  cried  a  jeering  voice  from  the  other  side  of  the 
thoroughfare.  "If  it  be  crooked,  a  blind  man  and  a 
dog  were  a  better  guide." 

The  speaker,  a  squat,  misshapen  figure,  had  emerged 
from  a  passage  turning  into  the  street,  and  now  stood, 
twirling  a  fool's  head  on  a  stick  and  gazing  impudently 
at  the  new-comers.  The  crone  whom  the  plaisant  had 
addressed  remained  motionless  as  a  statue. 

"Ha !  ha !"  laughed  the  oddity  who  had  volunteered 
this  malapert  response  to  the  jester's  inquiry,  "yonder 
sign-post" — pointing  to  the  aged  dame — "has  lost  its 
fingers — or  rather  its  ears.  Better  trust  to  your  nose." 

"Triboulet!"  exclaimed  Jacqueline. 

"Is  it  you,  lady-bird?"  said  the  surprised  dwarf, 
recognizing  in  turn  the  maid.  "And  with  the  plais- 
ant/' staring  hard  at  the  fool.  Then  a  cunning  look 
gradually  replaced  the  wonder  depicted  on  his  fea- 
tures. "You  are  fleeing  from  the  court ;  I,  toward  it," 
he  remarked,  jocosely. 

"What  mean  you,  fool?"  demanded  the  horseman, 
sternly. 

"That  I  have  run  away  from  the  duke,  fool,"  an- 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  SWORD    327 

swered  the  hunchback.  "The  foreign  lord  dared  to 
beat  me — Triboulet — who  has  only  been  beaten  by  the 
king.  Sooner  or  later  must  I  have  fled,  in  any  event, 
for  what  is  Triboulet  without  the  court ;  or  the  court, 
without  Triboulet?"  his  indignation  merging  into  ar- 
rogant vainglory. 

"When  did  you  leave  the — duke?"  asked  the  other, 
slowly. 

"Several  days  ago,"  replied  the  dwarf,  gazing  nar- 
rowly at  his  questioner.  "Down  the  road.  He  should 
be  far  away  by  this  time." 

Suspiciously  the  duke's  jester  regarded  the  hunch- 
back and  then  glanced  dubiously  toward  the  gate 
through  which  they  had  entered  the  town.  He  had 
experienced  Triboulet's  duplicity  and  malice,  yet  in 
this  instance  was  disposed  to  give  credence  to  his  story, 
because  he  doubted  not  that  Louis  of  Hochfels  would 
make  all  haste  out  of  Francis'  kingdom.  Nor  did  it 
appear  unreasonable  that  Triboulet  should  pine  for 
the  excitement  of  his  former  life;  the  pleasures  and 
gaiety  which  prevailed  at  Fools'  hall.  If  the  hunch- 
back's information  were  true,  they  need  now  have  little 
fear  of  overtaking  the  free  baron  and  his  following, 
as  not  far  beyond  the  chateau-town  the  main  road 
broke  into  two  parts,  the  one  continuing  southward 
and  the  other  branching  off  to  the  east. 


328  UNDERTHEROSE 

While  the  horseman  was  thus  reflecting,  Triboulet, 
like  an  imp,  began  to  dance  before  them,  slapping  his 
crooked  knees  with  his  enormous  hands. 

"A  good  joke,  my  master  and  mistress  in  motley," 
he  cried.  "The  king  was  weak  enough  to  exchange 
his  dwarf  for  a  demoiselle;  the  latter  has  fled;  the 
monarch  has  neither  one  nor  the  other ;  therefore  is  he, 
himself,  the  fool.  And  thou,  mistress,  art  also  worthy 
of  the  madcap  bells,"  he  added,  his  distorted  face  up- 
turned to  the  jestress. 

"How  so?"  she  asked,  not  concealing  the  repug- 
nance he  inspired. 

"Because  you  prefer  a  fool's  cap  to  a  king's  crown," 
he  answered,  looking  significantly  at  her  companion. 
"Wherein  you  but  followed  the  royal  preference  for 
head-coverings.  Ho !  ho !  I  saw  which  way  the  wind 
blew;  how  the  monarch's  eyes  kindled  when  they 
rested  on  you ;  how  the  wings  of  Madame  d'Etampes's 
coif  fluttered  like  an  angry  butterfly.  Know  you  what 
was  whispered  at  court?  The  reason  the  countess 
pleaded  for  an  earlier  marriage  for  the  duke?  That 
the  princess  might  leave  the  sooner — and  take  the 
jestress,  her  maid,  with  her.  But  the  king  met  her 
manceuver  with  another.  He  granted  the  favorite's 
request — but  kept  the  jestress." 


THE  TALE  OF  THE   SWORD    329 

"Silence,  rogue!"  commanded  the  duke's  fool, 
wheeling  his  horse  toward  the  dwarf. 

"And  then  for  her  to  turn  from  a  throne-room  to  a 
dungeon,"  went  on  Triboulet,  satirically,  as  he  re- 
treated. "As  Brusquet  wrote;  'twas: 

"  'Morblett!    A  merry  monarch  and  a  jestress  fair ; 
A  jestress   fair,  I  ween!' — " 

But  ere  the  hunchback  could  finish  this  scurrilous 
doggerel  of  the  court,  over  which,  doubtless,  many 
loose  witlings  had  laughed,  the  girl's  companion 
placed  his  hand  on  his  sword  and  started  toward  the 
dwarf.  The  words  died  on  Triboulet 's  lips;  hastily 
he  dodged  into  a  narrow  space  between  two  houses, 
where  he  was  safe  from  pursuit.  Jacqueline's  face 
had  become  flushed ;  her  lips  were  compressed ;  the 
countenance  of  the  duke's  plaisant  seemed  paler  than 
its  wont. 

"Little  monster!"  he  muttered. 

But  the  hunchback,  in  his  retreat,  was  now  regard- 
ing neither  the  horseman  nor  the  young  girl.  His 
glittering  eyes,  as  if  fascinated,  rested  on  the  weapon 
of  the  plaisant. 

"What  a  fine  blade  you've  got  there !"  he  said  curi- 
ously. "Much  better  than  a  wooden  sword.  Jeweled, 
too,  by  the  holy  bagpipe!  And  a  coat  of  arms!" — 


330  UNDER   THE  ROSE 

more  excitedly — "yes,  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  great 
Constable  of  Dubrois.  As  proud  a  sword  as  that  of 
the  king.  Where  did  you  get  it?"  And  in  his  sud- 
den interest,  the  dwarf  half-ventured  from  his  place  of 
refuge. 

"Answer  him  not !"  said  the  girl,  hastily. 

"Was  it  you,  mistress,  gave  it  him?"  he  asked,  with 
a  sudden,  sharp  look. 

Her  contemptuous  gaze  was  her  only  reply. 

"By  the  dust  of  kings,  when  last  I  saw  it,  the 
haughty  constable  himself  it  was  who  wore  it,"  con- 
tinued Triboulet.  "Aye,  when  he  defied  Francis  to 
his  face.  I  can  see  him  now,  a  rich  surcoat  over  his 
gilded  armor ;  the  queen-mother,  an  amorous  Dulcinea, 
gazing  at  him,  with  all  her  soul  in  her  eyes;  the  bril- 
liant company  startled ;  even  the  king  overawed.  'Twas 
I  broke  the  spell,  while  the  monarch  and  the  court  were 
silent,  not  daring  to  speak." 

"You!"  From  the  young  woman's  eyes  flashed  a 
flame  of  deepest  hatred. 

The  hunchback  shrank  back;  then  laughed.  "I, 
Triboulet !"  he  boasted.  "  'Ha !'  said  I,  'he's  greater 
than  the  king!'  whereupon  Francis  frowned,  started, 
and  answered  the  constable,  refusing  his  claim.  Not 
long  thereafter  the  constable  died  in  Spain,  and  I  com- 


pleted  the  jest.  'So,'  said  I,  'he  is  less  than  a  man.' 
And  the  king,  who  remembered,  laughed." 

"Let  us  go,"  said  the  jestress,  very  white. 

Silently  the  plaisant  obeyed,  and  Triboulet  once 
more  ventured  forth.  "Momus  go  with  you!"  he 
called  out  after  them.  And  then : 

"'Morbleu!    A  merry  monarch  and  a  jestress  fair;'" 

More  quickly  they  rode  on.  Furtively,  with  sup- 
pressed rage  in  his  heart,  the  duke's  fool  regarded  his 
companion.  Her  face  was  cold  and  set,  and  as  his 
glance  rested  on  its  pale,  pure  outline,  beneath  his 
breath  he  cursed  Brusquet,  Triboulet  and  all  their 
kind.  He  understood  now — too  well — the  secret  of 
her  flight.  What  he  had  heretofore  been  fairly  assured 
of  was  unmistakably  confirmed.  The  sight  of  the 
tavern  which  they  came  suddenly  upon  and  the  appear- 
ance of  the  innkeeper  interrupted  this  dark  trend  of 
thought,  and,  springing  from  his  horse,  the  jester 
helped  the  girl  to  dismount. 

The  house,  being  situated  in  tKe  immediate  prox- 
imity of  the  grand  chateau,  received  a  certain  patron- 
age from  noble  lords  and  ladies.  This  trade  had  given 
the  proprietor  such  an  opinion  of  his  hostelry  that 
common  folk  were  not  wont  to  be  overwhelmed  with 


332  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

welcome.  In  the  present  instance  the  man  showed 
a  disposition  to  scrutinize  too  closely  the  modest  at- 
tire of  the  new-comers  and  the  plain  housings  of  their 
chargers,  when  the  curt  voice  of  the  jester  recalled 
him  sharply  from  this  forward  occupation. 

With  a  shade  less  of  disrespect,  the  proprietor  bade 
them  follow  him ;  rooms  were  given  them,  and,  in  the 
larger  of  the  two  chambers,  the  plaisant,  desiring  to 
avoid  the  publicity  of  the  dining  and  tap-room,  or- 
dered their  supper  to  be  served. 

During  the  repast  the  girl  scarcely  spoke ;  the  capon 
she  hardly  touched;  the  claret  she  merely  sipped. 
Once  when  she  held  the  glass  to  her  lips,  he  noticed 
her  hand  trembled  just  a  little,  and  then,  when  she 
set  down  the  goblet,  how  it  closed,  almost  fiercely. 
Beneath  her  eyes  shadows  seemed  to  gather;  above 
them  her  glance  shone  ominously. 

"Oh,"  she  said  at  length,  as  though  giving  utterance 
to  some  thought,  which,  pent-up,  she  could  no  longer 
control ;  "the  irony ;  the  tragedy  of  it !" 

"What,  Jacqueline?"  he  asked,  gently,  although  he 
felt  the  blood  surging  in  his  head. 

"'Morbleu!    A  merry  monarch' — " 

she  began,  and  broke  off  abruptly,  rising  to  her  feet, 
with  a  gesture  of  aversion,  and  moving  restlessly 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  SWORD    333 

across  the  room.  "After  all  these  years!  After  all 
that  had  gone  before !" 

"What  has  gone  before,  Jacqueline?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered;  "nothing." 

For  some  time  he  sat  with  his  sword  across  his 
knees,  thinking  deeply.  She  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out.  When  she  spoke  again  her  voice  had  re- 
gained its  self-command. 

"A  dark  night,"  she  said,  mechanically. 

"Jacqueline,"  he  asked,  glancing  up  from  the  blade, 
"why  in  the  crypt  that  day  we  escaped  did  you  pause 
at  that  monument?" 

Quickly  she  turned,  gazing  at  him  from  the  half- 
darkness  in  which  she  stood. 

"Did  you  see  to  whom  the  monument  was  erected  ?" 
she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"To  the  wife  of  the  constable.  But  what  was  Anne, 
Duchess  of  Dubrois,  to  you  ?" 

"She  was  the  last  lady  of  the  castle,"  said  the  girl 
softly. 

Again  he  surveyed  the  jeweled  emblem  on  the 
sword,  mocking  reminder  of  a  glory  gone  beyond  re- 
call. 

"And  how  was  it,  mistress,  the  castle  was  confiscated 
by  the  king?"  he  continued,  after  a  pause. 


334  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

"Shall  I  tell  you  the  story?"  she  asked,  her  voice 
hardening. 

"If  you  will,"  he  answered. 

"Triboulet's  description  of  the  scene  where  the  con- 
stable braved  the  king,  insisting  on  his  rights,  was 
true,"  she  observed,  proudly. 

"But  why  had  the  noble  wearer  of  this  sword  been 
deprived  of  his  feudality  and  tenure?" 

"Because  he  was  strong  and  great,  and  the  king 
feared  him ;  because  he  was  noble  and  handsome,  and 
the  queen-regent  loved  him.  It  was  not  her  hand 
only,  Louise  of  Savoy,  Francis'  mother,  offered,  but 
— the  throne." 

"The  throne!"  said  the  wondering  fool. 

Quickly  she  crossed  the  room  and  leaned  upon  the 
table.  In  the  glimmer  of  the  candles  her  face  was  soft 
and  tender.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  sweeter 
or  more  womanly  expression. 

"But  he  refused  it,"  she  continued,  "for  he  loved 
'  only  the  memory  of  his  wife,  Lady  Anne.  She,  a  per- 
fect being.  The  other — what?" 

On  her  features  shone  a  fine  contempt. 

"Then  followed  the  endless  persecution  and  spite  of 
a  woman  scorned,"  she  continued,  rapidly.  "One  by 
one,  his  honors  were  wrested  from  him.  He  who  had 
borne  the  flag  triumphantly  through  Italy  was  deprived 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  SWORD     335 

of  the  government  of  Milan  and  replaced  by  a  brother 
of  Madame  de  Chateaubriant,  then  favorite  of  the 
king.  His  castle,  lands,  were  confiscated,  until,  driv- 
en to  despair,  he  fled  and  allied  himself  with  the  em- 
peror. 'Traitor,'  they  called  him.  He,  a  Bayard." 

A  moment  she  stood,  an  exalted  look  on  her  fea- 
tures ;  tall,  erect ;  then  stepped  toward  him  and  took 
the  sword.  With  a  bright  and  radiant  glance  she  sur- 
veyed it;  pressed  the  hilt  to  her  lips,  and  with  both 
hands  held  it  to  her  bosom.  As  if  fascinated,  the  fool 
watched  her.  Her  countenance  was  upturned ;  a  mo- 
ment, and  it  fell;  a  dark  shadow  crossed  it;  beneath 
her  lashes  her  eyes  were  like  night. 

"But  he  failed  because  Charles,  the  emperor,  failed 
him,"  she  said,  almost  mechanically,  "and  broken  in 
spirit,  met  his  death  miserably  in  exile.  Yet  his  cause 
was  just;  his  memory  is  dearer  than  that  of  a  con- 
queror. She,  the  queen-mother,  is  dead;  God  alone 
may  deal  with  her." 

More  composed,  she  resumed  her  place  in  the  chair 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  the  sword  across  her 
arm. 

"And  how  came  you,  mistress,"  he  asked,  regarding 
her  closely,  "in  the  pleasure  palace  built  by  Francis  ?" 

"When  the  castle  was  taken,  all  who  had  not  fled 
were  a  gamekeeper  and  his  little  girl — myself.  The 


336  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

latter" — ironically — "pleased  some  of  the  court  ladies. 
They  commended  her  wit,  and  gradually  was  she  ad- 
vanced to  the  high  position  she  occupied  when  you  ar- 
rived," with  a  strange  glance  across  the  board  at 
her  listener. 

"And  the  gamekeeper — your  father — is  dead?'* 

"Long  since." 

"The  constable  had  no  children?" 

"Yes;  a  girl  who,  it  is  believed,  died  with  him  in 
Spain." 

The  entrance  of  the  servant  to  remove  the  dishes 
interrupted  their  further  conversation.  As  the  door 
opened,  from  below  came  the  voices  of  new-comers,  the 
impatient  call  of  tipplers  for  ale,  the  rattle  of  dishes 
in  the  kitchen.  Wrapped  in  the  recollections  the  con- 
versation had  evoked,  to  Jacqueline  the  din  passed 
unnoticed,  and  when  the  rosy-cheeked  lass  had  gone 
— it  was  the  jester  who  first  spoke. 

"What  a  commentary  on  the  mockery  of  fate  that 
the  sword  of  such  a  man,  so  illustrious,  so  unfortunate, 
should  be  intrusted  to  a  fool!" 

"Why,"  she  said,  looking  at  him,  her  arms  on  the 
table,  "you  drew  it  bravely,  and — once — more  bravely 
— kept  it  sheathed." 

His  face  flushed.  She  half  smiled ;  then  placed  the 
blade  on  the  board  before  him. 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  SWORD     337 

"There  it  is." 

Above  the  sword  he  reached  over,  as  if  to  place  his 
hand  on  hers,  but  she  quickly  rose.  Absently  he  re- 
turned the  weapon  to  his  girdle.  She  took  a  step  or 
two  from  him,  nervously;  lifted  her  hand  to  her  brow 
and  breathed  deeply. 

"How  tired  I  feel !"  she  said. 

Immediately  he  got  up.  "You  are  worn  out  from 
the  journey,"  he  observed,  quickly. 

But  he  knew  it  was  not  the  journey  that  had  most 
affected  her. 

"I  will  leave  you,"  he  went  on.  "Have  you  every- 
thing you  need?" 

"Everything,"  she  answered  carelessly. 

He  walked  to  the  door.  The  light  was  on  his  face ; 
hers  remained  shaded. 

"Good-night,"  she  said. 

"Good-night,  Jacqueline,  Duchess  of  Dubrois,"  he 
answered,  and,  turning,  disappeared  down  the  cor- 
ridor. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE  DWARF    MAKES   AN    EARLY   CALL 

From  one  of  the  watch-towers  of  the  town  rang  the 
clear  note  of  a  trumpet,  a  tribute  of  melody,  occa- 
sioned by  the  awakening  in  the  east.  As  the  last 
clarion  tones  reechoed  over  the  sleeping  village,  a 
crimson  rim  appeared  above  the  horizon  and  soon  the 
entire  wheel  of  the  chariot  of  the  sun-god  rolled  up 
out  of  the  illimitable  abyss  and  began  its  daily  race 
across  the  sky.  The  stolid  bugler  yawned,  tucked  his 
trumpet  under  his  arm,  and,  having  perfunctorily  per- 
formed the  duties  of  his  office,  tramped  downward 
with  more  alacrity  than  he  had  toiled  upward. 

About  the  same  time  the  sleepy  guard  at  the  town 
gate  was  relieved  by  an  equally  drowsy-appearing 
trooper ;  here  and  there  windows  were  flung  open,  and 
around  the  well  in  the  small  public  square  the  maids 
began  to  congregate.  In  the  tap-room  of  the  tavern 
the  landlord  moved  about,  setting  to  rights  the  tables 
and  chairs,  or  sprinkling  fresh  sand  on  the  floor.  The 
place  had  a  stale,  close  odor,  as  though  not  long  since 

338 


AN  EARLY  CASE  339 

vacated  by  an  inabstinent  company,  a  supposition  fur- 
ther borne  out  by  the  disorder  of  the  furniture,  and 
the  evidence  the  gathering  had  not  been  over-nice 
about  spilling  the  contents  of  their  toss-pots.  The 
host  had  but  opened  the  front  door,  permitting  the 
fresh,  invigorating  air  from  without  to  enter,  when 
the  duke's  fylaisant,  his  cloak  over  his  arm,  de- 
scended the  stairs,  and,  addressing  the  landlord,  asked 
when  he  and  his  companion  could  be  provided  with 
breakfast. 

"Breakfast !"  grumbled  the  proprietor.  "The  maids 
are  hardly  up  and  the  fires  must  yet  be  started.  It 
will  be  an  hour  or  more  before  you  can  be  served." 

The  jester  appeared  somewhat  dissatisfied,  but  con- 
tented himself  with  requesting  the  other  to  set  about 
the  meal  at  once. 

"You  ride  forth  early,"  answered  the  man,  in  an 
aggrieved  tone. 

The  plaisant  made  no  reply  as  he  strode  to  the  door 
and  looked  out ;  noted  sundry  signs  of  awakening  life 
down  the  narrow  street,  and  then  returned  to  the  tap- 
room. 

"You  had  a  noisy  company  here  last  night,  land- 
lord?" he  vouchsafed,  glancing  around  the  room  and 
recalling  the  laughter  and  shouts  he  had  heard  below 
until  a  late  hour. 


340  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Noisy  company!"  retorted  the  innkeeper.  "A 
goodly  company  that  ate  and  drank  freely.  Distin- 
guished company  that  paid  freely.  The  king's  own 
guards  who  are  acting  as  escort  to  Robert,  the  Duke 
of  Friedwald,  and  his  bride,  the  princess.  Noisy 
company,  forsooth." 

The  young  man  started.  "The  king's  guards!"  he 
said.  "What  are  they  doing  here?" 

The  other  vigorously  rubbed  the  top  of  a  table  with 
a  damp  cloth.  "Acting  as  escort  to  the  duke,  as  I 
told  you,"  he  replied. 

"The  duke  is  here,  also?" 

"Yes;  at  the  chateau.  The  princess  had  become 
weary  of  travel;  besides,  had  sprained  her  ankle,  I 
heard,  and  would  have  it  the  cavalcade  should  tarry 
a  few  days.  They  e'en  stopped  at  my  door,"  he  went 
on  ostentatiously,  "and  called  for  a  glass  of  wine  for 
the  princess.  'Tis  true  she  took  it  with  a  frown,  but 
the  hardships  of  journeying  do  not  agree  with  grand 
folks." 

These  last  words  the  jester,  absorbed  in  thought, 
did  not  hear.  With  his  back  to  the  man,  he  stood  gaz- 
ing through  the  high  window,  apparently  across  the 
street.  But  between  the  two  houses  on  the  other  side 
of  the  thoroughfare  was  a  considerable  open  space, 
and  through  this,  far  away,  on  the  mount,  could  be 


AN  EARLY  CASE  341 

seen  the  chateau.  The  sunlight  shone  bright  on  tur- 
ret and  spire ;  its  walls  were  white  and  glistening ;  its 
outlines,  graceful  and  airy  as  a  fabric  of  imagination. 

"And  yet  it  was  a  handsome  cavalcade,"  continued 
the  proprietor,  his  predilection  for  pomp  overcoming 
his  churlishness.  "The  princess  on  a  steed  with  vel- 
vet housings,  set  with  precious  stones.  Her  ladies  at- 
tired in  eastern  silks.  Behind  the  men  of  arms ;  Fran- 
cis' troops  in  rich  armor;  the  duke's  soldiers  more 
simply  arrayed.  At  the  head  of  the  procession 
rode—" 

"Have  the  horses  brought  out  at  once." 

Thus  brusquely  interrupted,  the  innkeeper  stared 
blankly  at  his  guest,  who  had  left  the  window  and  now 
stood  in  the  center  of  the  room  confronting  him. 
"And  the  breakfast?"  asked  the  man. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind  and  do  not  want  it,"  was 
the  curt  response. 

The  host  shrugged  his  shoulders  disagreeably,  as  the 
plaisant  turned  and  ascended  the  stairs.  "Unprofit- 
able travelers,"  muttered  the  landlord,  following  with 
his  gaze  the  retreating  figure. 

Hastily  making  his  way  to  the  room  of  the  young 
girl,  the  jester  knocked  on  the  door. 

"Are  you  awake,  Jacqueline?" 

"Yes,"  answered  a  voice  within. 


342  UNDERTHEROSE 

"We  must  ride  forth  as  soon  as  possible.  The  duke 
is  at  the  chateau." 

"At  the  chateau !"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise.  Then 
after  a  pause :  "And  Triboulet  saw  us.  He  will  tell 
that  you  are  here.  I  will  come  down  at  once.  Wait," 
she  added,  as  an  afterthought  seized  her. 

He  heard  her  step  to  the  window.  "I  think  the 
gates  of  the  chateau  are  open,"  she  said.  "I  am  not 
sure ;  it  is  so  far." 

"Do  you  see  any  one  on  the  road  leading  down?" 

"No,"  came  the  answer. 

"Nor  could  I.  But  perhaps  they  have  already 
passed." 

Again  the  jester  returned  to  the  tap-room,  where 
he  found  the  landlord  polishing  the  pewter  tankards. 

"The  horses?"  said  the  fool  sharply. 

"The  stable  boy  will  bring  them  to  the  door,"  was 
the  response,  and  the  innkeeper  held  a  pot  in  the  air 
and  leisurely  surveyed  the  shining  surface. 

"The  reckoning?" 

Deliberately  the  man  replaced  the  receptacle  on  the 
table,  and,  pressing  his  thumbs  together,  began  slowly 
to  calculate :  "Bottle  of  wine,  ten  sous ;  capon,  twenty 
sous;  two  rooms — "  when  the  jester  took  from  his 
coat  the  purse  the  young  girl  had  given  him,  and, 
selecting  a  coin,  threw  it  on  the  board.  At  the  sight 


AN  EARLY  CASE  343 

of  the  purse  and  its  golden  contents  the  countenance 
of  the  proprietor  mollified ;  his  orice  forthwith  varied 
with  his  changed  estimate  ci  'his  guest's  condition. 
"Two  rooms,  fifty  sous ;  fodder,  forty  sous" — he  went 
on.  "That  would  make — " 

"Keep  the  coin,"  said  the  plaisant,  "and  have  the 
stable  boy  make  haste." 

With  new  alacrity,  the  innkeeper  thrust  the  pistole 
into  a  leathern ,  pouch  he  carried  at  his  girdle.  A 
guest  who  paid  so  well  could  afford  to  be  eccentric,  and 
if  he  and  the  young  lady  chose  to  travel  without  break- 
fast, it  was  obviously  not  for  the  purpose  of  economy. 
Therefore,  exclaiming  something  about  "a  lazy  rascal 
that  needed  stirring  up,"  the  now  interested  landlord 
was  about  to  go  to  the  barn  himself,  when,  with  a  loud 
clattering,  a  party  of  horsemen  rode  up  to  the  tavern ; 
the  door  burst  open  and  Triboulet,  followed  by  a  tall, 
rugged-looking  man  and  a  party  of  troopers,  entered 
the  hall. 

Swiftly  the  jester  glanced  around  him ;  the  room 
had  no  other  door  than  that  before  which  the  troopers 
were  crowded;  he  was  fairly  caught  in  a  trap.  Re- 
morsefully his  thoughts  flew  to  the  young  girl  and  the 
trust  she  had  imposed  in  him.  How  had  he  rewarded 
that  confidence?  By  a  temerity  which  made  this 
treachery  on  the  part  of  the  hunchback  possible. 


344  UNDERTHEROSE 

Even  now  before  him  stood  Triboulet,  bowing  iron- 
ically. 

"I  trust  you  are  well?"  jeered  the  dwarf,  and  with  a 
light,  dancing  step  began  to  survey  the  other  from 
side  to  side.  "And  the  lady — is  she  also  well  this 
morning?  How  pleased  you  both  were  to  see  me 
yesterday!"  assuming  an  insolent,  albeit  watchful, 
pose.  "So  you  believed  I  had  run  away  from  the 
duke?  As  if  he  could  get  on  without  me.  What 
would  be  a  honeymoon  without  Triboulet !  The  maids 
of  honor  would  die  of  ennui.  One  day  they  trick  me 
out  with  true-lovers'  knots !  the  next,  give  me  a  Cupid's 
head  for  a  wand.  Leave  the  duke !"  he  repeated, 
bombastically.  "Triboulet  could  not  be  so  unkind." 

"Enough  of  this  buffoonery !"  said  a  decisive  voice, 
and  the  dwarf  drew  back,  not  without  a  grimace,  to 
make  room  for  a  person  of  soldierly  mien,  who  now 
pushed  his  way  to  the  front.  Over  his  doublet  this 
gentleman  wore  a  somewhat  frayed,  but  embroidered, 
cloak;  his  broad  hat  was  fringed  with  gold  that  had 
lost  its  luster ;  his  countenance,  deeply  burned,  seemed 
that  of  an  old  campaigner.  He  regarded  the  fool 
courteously,  yet  haughtily. 

"Your  sword,  sir!"  he  commanded,  in  the  tone  of 
one  accustomed  to  being  obeyed. 


ANEARLYCASE  345 

"To  whom  should  I  give  it?"  asked  the  duke's  jes- 
ter. 

"To  the  Vicomte  de  Gruise,  commandant  of  the 
town.  I  have  a  writ  for  your  arrest  as  a  heretic." 

"Who  has  lodged  this  information  against  me?" 

"Triboulet.  That  is,  he  procured  the  duke's  signa- 
ture to  the  writ." 

"And  you  think  the  duke  a  party  to  this  farce,  my 
Lord?"  said  the  fool,  with  assumed  composure.  "It 
has  not  occurred  to  you  that  before  the  day  is  over  all 
the  village  will  be  laughing  at  the  spectacle  of  their 
commandant — pardon  me — being  led  by  the  nose  by  a 
jester?" 

The  officer's  sun-burned  face  became  yet  redder ;  he 
frowned,  then  glanced  suspiciously  at  Triboulet,  whose 
reputation  was  France-wide. 

"This  man  was  the  duke's  fool,"  screamed  the 
dwarf,  "and  was  imprisoned  by  order  of  the  king. 
His  companion  who  is  here  with  him  was  formerly 
jestress  to  the  princess.  She  is  a  sorceress  and  be- 
witched the  monarch.  Then  her  fancy  seized  upon 
the  heretic,  and,  by  her  dark  art,  she  opened  the  door 
of  the  cell  for  him.  Together  they  fled;  she  from 
the  court,  he  from  prison." 

The  commandant  looked  curiously  from  the  hunch- 


346  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

back  to  the  accused.  If  this  were  acting,  the  dwarf 
was  indeed  a  master  of  the  art. 

"Besides,  his  haste  to  leave  the  village,"  eagerly 
went  on  Triboulet.  "Why  was  he  dressed  at  this 
hour?  Ask  the  landlord  if  he  did  not  seem  unduly 
hurried?" 

At  this  appeal  the  innkeeper,  who  had  been  an  in- 
terested spectator,  now  became  a  not  unwilling  wit- 
ness. 

"It  is  true  he  seemed  hurried,"  he  answered. 
"When  he  first  came  down  he  ordered  breakfast.  I 
happened  to  mention  the  duke  was  at  the  chateau, 
whereupon  he  lost  his  appetite  with  suspicious  sudden- 
ness, called  for  his  horses,  and  was  for  riding  off  with 
all  haste." 

From  the  commandant's  expression  this  testimony 
apparently  removed  any  doubts  he  may  have  enter- 
tained. Above  the  heads  of  the  troopers  massed  in 
the  doorway  the  duke's  plaisant  saw  Jacqueline,  stand- 
ing on  the  stairs,  with  wide-open,  dark  eyes  fastened 
upon  him.  Involuntarily  he  lifted  his  hand  to  his 
heart ;  across  the  brief  space  glance  melted  into  glance. 

Persecuted  Calvin  maid — had  not  her  fate  been  un- 
toward enough  without  this  new  disaster?  Had  not 
the  king  wrought  sufficient  ill  to  her  and  hers  in  the 


AN  EARLY  CASE  347 

past  ?  Would  she  be  sent  back  to  the  court ;  the  mon- 
arch? For  himself  he  had  no  thought,  but  for  her, 
who  was  nobler  even  than  her  birthright.  He  had 
been  thrice  a  fool  who  had  not  heeded  portentous 
warnings — the  sight  of  Triboulet,  the  clamor  of  the 
troopers — and  had  failed  to  flee  during  the  night.  As 
he  realized  the  penalty  of  his  negligence  would  fall  so 
heavily  upon  her,  a  cry  of  rage  burst  from  the  fool's 
lips  and  he  sprang  toward  his  aggressors.  The  young 
girl  became  yet  whiter ;  a  moment  she  clung  to  the 
baluster;  then  started  to  descend  the  stairs.  A  dozen 
swords  flashed  before  her  eyes. 

She  drew  in  her  breath  sharply,  when  as  if  by  some 
magic,  the  anger  faded  from  the  face  of  the  duke's 
fool;  the  hand  he  had  raised  to  his  breast  fell  to  his 
side ;  his  blade  remained  sheathed. 

"Your  pardon,  my  Lord,"  he  said  to  the  command- 
ant. "I  have  no  intention  of  resisting  the  authority  of 
the  law,  but  if  you  will  grant  me  a  few  moments'  pri- 
vate audience  in  this  room,  I  promise  to  convince  you 
the  Duke  of  Friedwald  never  signed  that  writ." 

"Let  him  convince  the  council  that  examines  here- 
tics," laughed  Triboulet.  "I'll  warrant  they'll  make 
short  work  of  his  arguments." 

"I  will  give  you  my  sword,  sir,"  went  on  the  jester. 


348  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Afterward,  if  you  are  satisfied,  you  shall  return  it  to 
me.  If  you  are  not,  on  my  word  as  a  man  of  honor, 
I  will  go  with  you  without  more  ado." 

"A  Calvinist,  a  jester,  a  man  of  honor!"  cried  the 
dwarf. 

But  narrowly  the  vicomte  regarded  the  speaker. 
"Pardieu!"  he  exclaimed  gruffly.  "Keep  your  sword! 
I  promise  you  I  can  look  to  my  own  safety."  And  in 
spite  of  Triboulet's  remonstrance,  he  waved  back  the 
troopers  and  closed  the  door  upon  the  plaisant  and 
himself. 

Outside  the  dwarf  stormed  and  stamped.  "The  jes- 
ter is  desperate.  It  is  the  noble  count  who  is  a 
nonny.  Open,  fool-soldiers!" 

This  command  not  being  obeyed  by  the  men  who 
guarded  the  entrance,  the  dwarf  began  to  abuse  them. 
A  considerable  interval  elapsed;  the  hunchback,  who 
dared  not  go  into  the  room  himself,  compromised  by 
kneeling  before  the  keyhole ;  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
stood  the  girl,  her  strained  gaze  fastened  upon  the 
door. 

"They  must  be  near  the  window,"  muttered  Tribou- 
let  in  a  disappointed  tone,  rising.  "What  can  they  be 
about  ?  Surely  will  he  try  to  kill  the  commandant." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  the  door  was  suddenly  thrown 
open  and  the  vicomte  appeared  on  the  threshold. 


AN  EARLY  CASE  349 

"Clear  the  hall !"  he  commanded  sharply  to  the  sur- 
prised soldiers.  "If  I  mistake  not,"  he  went  on,  ad- 
dressing the  duke's  jester,  "your  horses  are  at  the 
door." 

"You  are  going  to  let  them  go  ?"  burst  forth  Tribou- 
let. 

"I  trust  you  and  this  fair  lady" — turning  to  the 
wondering  girl,  who  now  stood  expectantly  at  the  side 
of  the  foreign  fool — "will  not  harbor  this  incident 
against  our  hospitality,"  went  on  the  vicomte,  without 
heeding  the  dwarf. 

"The  king  will  hang  you !"  exclaimed  Triboulet,  his 
face  black  with  disappointment  and  rage,  as  he  wit- 
nessed the  plaisant  and  the  jestress  leave  the  tavern 
together.  "Let  them  go  and  you  must  answer  to  the 
king.  One  is  a  heretic  who  threw  down  a  cross;  the 
other  I  charge  with  being  a  sorceress." 

A  terrible  arraignment  in  those  days,  yet  the  vicomte 
was  apparently  deaf.  Hat  in  hand,  he  waved  them 
adieu;  the  steeds  sprang  forward,  past  the  soldiers, 
and  down  the  street. 

"After  them!"  cried  the  dwarf  to  the  troopers. 
"Dolts  IJoltheads!" 

Whereupon  one  of  the  men,  angered  at  this  baiting, 
reaching  out  with  his  iron  boot,  caught  the  dwarf  such 
a  sharp  blow  he  staggered  and  fell,  striking  his  head  so 


350  UNDER  THE  ROSE 

violently  he  lay  motionless  on  the  walk.  At  the  same 
time,  far  above,  a  body  of  troopers  might  have  been 
seen  issuing-  from  the  gates  of  the  chateau  and  leisurely 
wending  their  way  downward. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

AN    ENCOUNTER   AT   THE   BRIDGE 

Some  part  of  the  interview  with  the  commandant 
which  had  resulted  in  their  release  the  jester  told  his 
companion  as  they  sped  down  the  sloping  plain  in  the 
early  silvery  light  which  transformed  the  dew-drops 
and  grassy  moisture  into  veils  of  mist.  Behind  them 
the  chateau  was  slowly  fading  from  view;  the  town 
had  already  disappeared.  Around  them  the  singing  of 
the  birds,  the  cooing  of  the  cushat  doves  and  the  buzz- 
ing of  the  bees,  mingled  in  dreamy  cadence.  On  each 
side  stretched  the  plain  which,  washed  by  recent  heavy 
rains,  was  now  spangled  with  new-grown  flowers ; 
here,  far  apart  in  sequestered  beauty ;  there,  clustering 
companionably  in  a  mass  of  color. 

"Upon  the  strength  of  the  letter  from  the  emperor, 
the  vicomte  took  the  responsibility  of  allowing  us  to 
depart/'  explained  the  fool.  "In  it  his  Majesty  re- 
ferred to  his  message  to  the  king,  to  the  part  played 
by  him  who  took  the  place  of  the  duke,  and  what  he 

351 


352  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

was  pleased  to  term  my  services  to  Francis  and  him- 
self." 

So  much  t'He  plaisant  related,  but  he  did  not  add 
that  the  commandant,  with  Triboulet's  words  in  mind, 
had  at  first  demurred  about  permitting  the  jestress  to 
go.  "Vrai  Dieu!"  that  person  had  exclaimed.  "If 
what  the  dwarf  said  be  true?  To  cross  the  king! — 
and  yet,"  he  had  added  cynically,  "it  sounds  most  un- 
like. Did  Aladdin  flee  from  the  genii  of  the  lamp? 
Such  a  magician  is  Francis.  Chateaux,  gardens — 'tis 
clearly  an  invention  of  Triboulet's !"  And  the  fallacy 
of  this  conclusion  the  duke's  plaisant  had  not  sought  to 
demonstrate. 

Without  question,  the  young  girl  listened,  but  when 
he  had  finished  her  features  hardened.  Intuitively  she 
divined  a  gap  in  the  narrative;  herself!  From  the 
dwarf's  slur  to  Caillette's  gentle  look  of  surprise  con- 
stituted a  natural  span  for  reflection.  And  the  duke's 
fool,  seeing  her  face  turn  cold,  attributed  it,  perhaps, 
to  another  reason.  Her  story  recurred  to  him;  she 
was  no  longer  a  nameless  jestress;  an  immeasurable 
distance  separated  a  mere  plaisant  from  the  survivor 
of  one  of  the  noblest,  if  most  unfortunate,  families  of 
France.  She  had  not  answered  the  night  before  when 
he  had  addressed  her  as  the  daughter  of  the  constable ; 


ENCOUNTER   AT   THE    BRIDGE    353 

motionless  as  a  statue  had  she  gazed  after  him;  and, 
remembering  the  manner  of  their  parting,  he  now 
looked  at  her  curiously. 

"All's  well  that  ends  well,"  he  said,  "but  I  must 
crave  indulgence,  Lady  Jacqueline,  for  having  brought 
you  into  such  peril." 

She  flushed.  "Do  you  persist  in  that  foolishness?" 
she  returned  quickly. 

"Do  you  deny  the  right  to  be  so  called  ?" 

"Did  I  not  tell  you — the  constable's  daughter  is 
dead?" 

"To  the  world !  But  to  the  fool — may  he  not  serve 
her?" 

His  face  was  expectant ;  his  voice,  light  yet  earnest. 
Her  answer  was  half-sad,  half-bright,  as  though  her 
tragedy,  like  those  acted  dramas,  had  its  less  somber 
lines.  And  in  the  stage  versions  of  those  dark,  mourn- 
ful pieces  were  not  the  softer  bits  introduced  with  cap 
and  bell?  The  fool's  stick  and  the  solemn  march  of 
irresistible  and  lowering  destiny  went  hand  in  hand. 
Everywhere  the  tinkle  of  the  tiny  bells. 

"Poor  service!"  she  retorted.  "A  discredited  mis- 
tress!" 

"One  I  am  minded  for,"  he  replied,  a  sudden  flash 
in  his  eyes. 


354  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

She  looked  away ;  her  lips  curved. 

"For  how  long-?"  she  said,  half -mockingly,  and 
touched  her  horse  before  he  could  reply. 

What  words  had  her  action  checked  on  his  lips? 
A  moment  was  he  disconcerted,  then  riding-  after  her, 
he  smiled,  thinking  how  once  he  had  carelessly  passed 
her  by ;  how  he  had  looked  upon  her  but  as  a  wilful 
child. 

A  child,  forsooth !  His  pulses  throbbed  fast.  Life 
had  grown  strangely  sweet,  as  though  from  her  look, 
when  she  had  stood  on  the  stairs,  he  had  drawn  new 
zest.  To  serve  her  seemed  a  happiness  that  drowned 
all  other  ills;  a  selfish  bond  of  subordination.  Her 
misfortunes  dignified  her;  her  worn  gown  was  dearer 
in  his  eyes  than  courtly  splendor;  the  disorder  of  her 
hair  more  becoming  than  nets  of  gold  and  coifs  of 
jewels.  He  forgot  their  danger;  the  broad  plain  lay 
like  a  pleasure  garden  before  them;  fairer  in  natural 
beauty  than  Francis'  conventional  parks. 

And  she,  too,  had  ceased  to  remember  the  dwarf's 
words,  for  the  joy  of  youth  is  strong,  and  the  sunshine 
and  air  were  rarely  intoxicating.  There  was  a  stirring 
rhythm  in  the  movement  of  the  steeds ;  noiselessly  their 
hoofs  beat  upon  the  soft  earth  and  tender  mosses.  The 
rains  which  elsewhere  had  flooded  the  lowlands  here 
but  enlivened  the  vernal  freshness  of  the  scene.  The 


ENCOUNTER   AT   THE   BRIDGE    355 

air  was  full  of  floating  thistle-down ;  a  cloud  of  insects 
dancing  in  the  light,  parted  to  let  them  pass. 

At  the  sight  of  a  bush,  white  with  flowers,  she  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  pleasure,  and  broke  off  a  branch 
covered  with  fragrant  blossoms,  as  they  rode  by.  Out 
of  the  depths  of  this  store-house  of  sweets  a  plunder- 
ing humming-bird  flashed  and  vanished,  a  jewel  from 
nature's  crown !  She  held  the  branch  to  her  face  and 
he  glanced  at  her  covertly;  she  was  all  jestress  again. 
The  cadence  of  that  measured  motion  shaped  itself  to 
an  ancient  lyric  in  keeping  with  the  song  of  birds,  the 
blue  sky,  and  the  wild  roses. 

"Hark!  hark! 
Pretty  lark ! 
Little  heedest  thou  my  pain." 

He  bent  his  head  listening ;  he  could  scarcely  hear  the 
words.  Was  it  a  sense  of  new  security  that  moved 
her;  the  reaction  of  their  narrow  escape;  the  knowl- 
edge they  were  leaving  the  chateau  and  all  danger  be- 
hind them? 

"Hark!  hark! 
Pretty  lark!—" 

Boom !  Far  in  the  distance  sounded  the  discharge 
of  a  cannon — its  iron  voice  the  antithesis  to  the  poet's 
dainty  pastoral.  As  the  report  reverberated  over  the 


356  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

valley,  from  the  grass  innumerable  insects  arose;  the 
din  died  away ;  the  disturbed  earth-dwellers  sank  back 
to  earth  again.  The  song  ceased  from  the  young  girl's 
lips,  and,  gazing  quickly  back,  she  could  just  distin- 
guish, above  one  of  the  parapets  of  the  chateau,  a 
wreath,  already  nearly  dissolved  in  the  blue  of  the 
sky.  The  jester,  who  had  also  turned  in  his  saddle, 
met  her  look  of  inquiry. 

"It  sounds  like  a  signal  of  some  kind — a  salute,  per- 
haps," he  said. 

"Or  a  call  to  arms  ?"  she  suggested,  and  he  made  no 
answer.  "It  means — pursuit !" 

Silent  they  rode  on,  but  more  rapidly.  With  pale 
face  and  composed  mien  she  kept  by  his  side ;  her  reso- 
lute expression  reassured  him,  while  her  glance  said : 
"Do  not  fear  for  me."  Gradually  had  they  becii 
descending  from  the  higher  slopes  of  the  country  of 
which  the  chateau-mount  was  the  loftiest  point  and 
now  were  passing  through  the  lower  stretches  of  land. 

Here,  the  highway  ran  above  fields,  inundated  by 
recent  rains,  and  marshes  converted  into  shining  lakes. 
Out  of  the  water  uprose  a  grove  of  trees,  spectral-like ; 
screaming  wild-fowl  skimmed  the  surface,  or  circled 
above.  The  pastoral  peace  of  the  meadows,  garden  of 
the  wild  flower  and  home  of  the  song-bird,  was  re- 
placed by  a  waste  of  desolation  and  wilderness.  Long 


ENCOUNTER   AT   THE    BRIDGE    357 

they  dashed  on  through  the  loneliness  of  that  land; 
a  depressing  flight — but  more  depressing  than  the 
abandoned  and  forlorn  aspect  of  the  scene  was  the  con- 
sciousness that  their  steeds  had  become  road-worn  and 
were  unable  to  respond.  Long,  long,  they  continued 
this  pace,  a  strained  period  of  suspense,  and  then  the 
fool  drew  rein. 

"Look,  Jacqueline,"  he  said.     "The  river !" 

Before  them,  fed  by  the  rivulets  from  the  distant 
hills,  the  foaming  current  threatened  to  overflow  its 
banks.  Already  the  rising  waters  touched  the  flimsy 
wooden  structure  that  spanned  the  torrent.  Contem- 
platively he  regarded  it,  and  then  placing  his  hand 
for  a  moment  on  hers,  said  encouragingly : 

"Perhaps,  after  all,  we  are  borrowing  trouble  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "If  I  could  but  think  it,"  she 
answered.  Something  seemed  to  rise  in  her  throat. 
"A  moment  I  forgot,  and — was  not  unhappy !  But 
now  I  feel  as  though  the  end  was  closing  about  us." 

He  tightened  his  grasp.  "You  are  worn  with 
fatigue ;  fanciful !"  he  replied. 

"The  end!"  she  repeated,  passionately.  "Yes;  the 
end !"  And  threw  off  his  hand.  "Look !" 

He  followed  her  eyes.  "Waving  plumes !"  he  cried. 
"And  drawing  nearer !  Come,  Jacqueline !  let  us  ride 
on!" 


358  UNDERTHEROSE 

"How?"  she  answered,  in  a  lifeless  tone.  "The 
bridge  will  not  hold." 

For  answer  he  turned  his  horse  to  it;  proceeded 
slowly  across.  It  wavered  and  bent;  her  wide- 
opened  eyes  followed  him ;  once  she  lifted  her  hand  to 
her  breast,  and  then  became  conscious  he  stood  on 
the  opposite  bank,  calling  her  to  follow.  She  started ; 
a  strange  smile  was  on  her  lips,  and  touching  her  horse 
sharply,  she  obeyed. 

"Is  it  to  death  he  has  called  me?"  she  asked  her- 
self. 

In  her  ears  sounded  the  swash  and  eddying  of  the 
current ;  she  closed  her  eyes  to  keep  from  falling,  when 
she  felt  a  hand  on  the  bridle,  and  in  a  moment  had 
reached  the  opposite  shore.  The  jester  made  no  mo- 
tion to  remount,  but  remained  at  her  horse's  head, 
closely  surveying  the  road  they  had  traveled. 

"Must  we  go  on  ?"  she  said,  mechanically. 

"Only  one  of  them  can  cross  at  a  time,"  he  answered, 
without  stirring.  "It  is  better  to  meet  them  here." 

"Oh,"  she  spoke  up,  "if  the  waters  would  only  rise 
a  little  more  and  carry  away  the  bridge." 

He  glanced  quickly  around  him,  weighing  the  slen- 
der chance  for  success  if  he  made  that  last  desperate 
stand,  and  then,  grasping  a  loose  plank,  began  using 
it  as  a  lever  against  one  of  the  weakened  supports  of 


ENCOUNTER   AT   THE   BRIDGE    359 

the  bridge.  Soon  the  beam  gave  way,  and  the  struc- 
ture, now  held  but  at  the  middle  and  one  side,  had 
already  begun  to  sag,  when  from  around  the  curve  of 
the  highway  appeared  Louis  of  Hochfels,  and  a  dozen 
of  his  followers. 

The  free  baron  rode  to  the  brim  of  the  torrent,  re- 
garded the  flood  and  the  bridge,  and  stopped.  He  was 
mounted  on  a  black  Spanish  barb  whose  glistening 
sides  were  flecked  with  foam ;  a  cloak  of  cloth  of  gold 
fell  from  his  brawny  shoulders;  his  heavy,  red  face 
looked  out  from  beneath  a  sombrero,  fringed  with  the 
same  metal.  A  gleam  of  grim  recollection  shone  from 
his  bloodshot  eyes  as  they  rested  on  the  fool. 

"Oh,  there  you  are !"  he  shouted,  with  savage  satis- 
faction. "Out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire!  Or 
rather — for  you  escaped  the  fagots  at  Notre  Dame 
— out  of  the  fire  into  the  frying-pan !" 

Above  the  tumult  of  the  torrent  his  stentorian  tones 
were  plainly  heard.  Without  response,  the  jester  in- 
serted the  plank  between  the  structure  and  the  middle 
support.  The  other,  perceiving  his  purpose,  uttered 
an  execration  that  was  drowned  by  the  current,  and 
irresolutely  regarded  the  means  of  communication  be- 
tween the  two  shores,  obviously  undetermined  about 
trusting  his  great  bulk  to  that  fragile  intermedium. 
Here  was  a  temporary  check  on  which  he  had  not 


360  UNDERTHEROSE 

calculated.  But  if  he  demurred  about  crossing  him- 
self, the  free  baron  did  not  long  display  the  same  in- 
firmity of  purpose  regarding  his  followers. 

"Over  with  you !"  he  cried  angrily  to  them.  "The 
lightest  first !  Fifty  pistoles  to  the  first  across !"  And 
then,  calling  out  to  the  fool :  "In  half  an  hour,  you,  my 
fine  wit-cracker,  shall  be  hanging  from  a  branch.  As 
for  the  maid,  she  is  a  witch,  I  am  told — we  will  test  her 
with  drowning." 

Tempted  by  their  leader's  offer,  one  of  the  troopers, 
a  lank,  muscular-looking  fellow,  at  once  drove  the 
spurs  into  his  horse.  Back  and  forth  moved  the  lever 
in  the  hands  of  the  jester ;  the  soldier  was  midway  on 
the  bridge,  when  it  sank  suddenly  to  one  side.  A 
moment  it  acted  as  a  dam,  then  bridge,  horse  and 
rider  were  swept  away  with  a  crash  and  carried  down- 
ward with  the  driving  flood.  Vainly  the  trooper 
sought  to  turn  his  steed  toward  the  shore ;  the  debris 
from  the  structure  soon  swept  him  from  his  saddle. 
Striking  out  strongly,  he  succeeded  in  catching  a  trail- 
ing branch  from  a  tree  on  the  bank,  but  the  torrent 
gripped  his  body  fiercely,  and,  after  a  desperate  strug- 
gle, tore  him  away. 

As  his  helpless  follower  disappeared,  the  free  baron 
gave  a  brief  command,  and  he  and  his  troops  posted 
rapidly  down  the  bank.  The  young  girl  breathed  a 


ENCOUNTER   AT   THE   BRIDGE    361 

sigh  of  relief;  her  eyes  were  yet  full  of  awe  from 
the  death  struggle  she  had  witnessed.  Fascinated,  her 
gaze  had  rested  on  the  drowning  wretch ;  the  pale  face, 
the  look  of  terror ;  but  now  she  was  called  to  a  realiza- 
tion of  their  own  situation  by  the  abrupt  departure  of 
the  squad  on  the  opposite  shore. 

"They  have  gone,"  she  cried,  in  surprise,  as  the 
party  vanished  among  the  trees. 

"But  not  far."  The  jester's  glance  was  bent  down 
the  stream.  "See,  where  the  torrent  broadens.  They 
expect  to  find  a  fording  place." 

Once  more  they  set  forth ;  he  knowing  full  well  that 
the  free  baron  and  his  men,  accustomed  to  the  moun- 
tain torrents,  unbridled  by  the  melting  snows,  would, 
in  all  likelihood,  soon  find  a  way  to  cross  the  freshet. 
His  mind  misgave  him  that  he  had  loosened  the  bridge 
at  all.  Would  it  not  have  been  better  to  force  the 
conflict  there,  when  he  had  the  advantage  of  position  ? 
But  right  or  wrong,  he  had  made  his  choice  and  must 
abide  by  it.  .  • 

To  add  to  his  discomfiture,  his  horse,  which  at  first 
had  lagged,  now  began  to  limp,  and,  as  they  proceeded, 
this  lameness  became  more  apparent.  With  a  twinge 
of  heart,  he  plied  the  spur  more  strongly,  and  the  will- 
ing but  broken  creature  responded  as  best  it  could. 
Again  it  hastened  its  pace,  seeming  in  a  measure  to  re- 


362  UNDERTHEROSE 

cover  strength  and  endurance,  then,  without  warning, 
lurched,  fell  to  its  knees  and  quickly  rolled  over  on  its 
side.  Jacqueline  glanced  back;  the  animal  lay  mo- 
tionless ;  the  rider  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  rise. 
Pale  with  apprehension  she  returned,  and,  dismount- 
ing, stood  at  the  head  of  the  prostrate  animal.  De- 
terminedly the  jester  struggled,  the  perspiration 
standing  on  his  brow  in  beads.  At  length,  breathing 
hard,  he  rested  his  head  on  his  elbow. 

"Here  am  I  caught  to  stay,  Jacqueline!"  he  said. 
"The  horse  is  dead.  But  you — you  must  still  go  on." 

With  clasped  hands  she  stood  looking  down  at  him. 
She  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying;  her  mind 
seemed  in  a  stupor;  with  apathetic  eyes  she  gazed 
down  the  road.  But  the  accident  had  happened  in  a 
little  hollow,  so  that  the  outlook  in  either  direction 
along  the  highway  was  restricted. 

"My  emperor  is  both  chivalrous  and  noble,"  con- 
tinued the  plaisant,  quickly.  "Go  to  him.  You  must 
not  wait  here  longer.  I  did  not  teil  you,  but  I  think 
the  free  baron  will  have  no  difficulty  in  crossing.  You 
have  no  time  to  lose.  Go ;  and — good-by !" 

"But — he  had  a  long  way  to  ride — even  if  he  could 
cross,"  she  said  slowly,  passing  her  hand  over  her 
brow. 

"Jacqueline !"  he  cried  out,  impatiently. 


ENCOUNTER   AT   THE   BRIDGE    363 

She  made  no  motion  to  leave,  and,  reading  in  her 
face  her  determination,  angered  by  his  own  helpless- 
ness, he  strove  violently  to  release  himself,  until 
wrenching  his  foot  in  his  frantic  efforts,  he  sank  back 
with  a  groan.  At  that  sound  of  pain,  wrung  from  him 
in  spite  of  his  fortitude,  all  her  seeming  apathy  van- 
ished. With  a  low  cry,  she  dropped  on  her  knees  in 
the  road  and  swiftly  took  his  head  in  her  arms. 

It  was  he,  not  the  young  girl,  who  spoke  first.  He 
forgot  all  peril — hers  and  his.  He  only  knew  her 
warm,  young  arms  were  about  him;  that  her  heart 
was  throbbing  wildly. 

"Jacqueline!"  he  cried,  passionately.  "Jacqueline!" 
And  threw  an  arm  about  her,  drawing  her  closer, 
closer. 

Did  she  hear  him?  She  did  not  reply.  Nor  did 
she  release  him.  She  did  not  even  look  down.  But 
he  felt  her  bosom  rising  and  falling  faster  than  its 
wont. 

"Jacqueline,"  he  repeated,  "are  you  listening?" 

She  stirred  slightly;  the  pallor  left  her  face.  In 
her  gaze  shone  a  light  difficult  to  divine — pity,  tender- 
ness, a  warmer  passion?  Where  had  he  seen  it  be- 
fore? In  the  cell  when  he  lay  injured;  in  his  waking 
dreams?  It  seemed  the  sudden  dawn  of  the  full 
beauty  of  her  eyes;  a  half-remembered  impression 


364  UNDERTHEROSE 

which  now  became  real.  Yet  even  as  she  looked  down 
his  face  changed;  his  eager  glance  grew  dark;  he 
listened  intently. 

The  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  beat  upon  the  air. 

"Jacqueline ! — go ! — there  is  yet  time !" 

Abruptly  she  arose.  He  held  out  his  hand  for  a  last 
quick  pressure;  a  God-speed  to  this  stanch  maid- 
comrade  of  the  motley. 

"God  keep  you,  mistress !" 

Standing  in  the  road,  gazing  up  the  hollow,  she 
neither  saw  his  hand  nor  caught  his  words  of  farewell. 
An  expression  of  bewilderment  had  overspread  her 
features;  quickly  she  glanced  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. 

"See !  see !"  she  exclaimed,  excitedly. 

But  he  was  past  response ;  overcome  by  pain,  in  a  last 
desperate  attempt  to  regain  his  feet,  he  had  lost  con- 
sciousness. As  he  fell  back,  above  the  hill  in  the  direc- 
tion she  was  looking,  appeared  the  black  plumes  of  a 
band  of  horsemen. 

"No;  they  are  not— " 

Her  glance  rested  on  the  jester,  lying  there  motion- 
less, and  hastening  to  his  side,  she  lifted  his  head  and 
placed  it  in  her  lap.  So  the  troopers  of  the  Emperor 
Charles — a  small  squad  of  outriders — found  her  sitting 
in  the  road,  her  hair  disordered  about  her,  her  face  the 
whiter  against  that  black  shroud. 


CHAPTER   XXV 

IN   THE   TENT   OF   THE   EMPEROR 

On  an  eminence  commanding  the  surrounding  coun- 
try an  unwonted  spectacle  that  same  day  had  presented 
itself  to  the  astonished  gaze  of  the  workers  in  a  neigh- 
boring vineyard.  Gleaming  with  crimson  and  gold, 
a  number  of  tents  had  appeared  as  by  magic  on  the 
mount,  the  temporary  encampment  of  a  rich  and  nu- 
merous cavalcade.  But  it  was  not  the  splendent  aspect 
of  this  unexpected  bivouac  itself  so  much  as  the  colors 
and  designs  of  the  flags  and  banners  floating  above 
which  aroused  the  wonderment  of  the  tillers  of  the  soil. 
Here  gleamed  no  salamander,  with  its  legend,  "In  fire 
am  I  nourished;  in  fire  I  die,"  but  the  less  magnilo- 
quent and  more  dreaded  coat  of  arms  of  the  emperor, 
the  royal  rival  and  one-time  jailer  of  the  proud  French 
monarch. 

The  sunlight,  reflected  from  the  golden  tassels  and 
ornamentation  of  the  tents,  threw  a  flaming  menace 
over  the  valley,  and  the  peasants  in  subdued  tones 

365 


366  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

talked  of  the  sudden  coming  of  the  dreaded  foeman. 
Mere  de  Dieu!  what  did  it  portend!  Venire  Saint 
Gris!  were  they  going  to  storm  the  fortresses  of  the 
king?  Was  an  army  following  this  formidable  ret- 
inue of  nobles,  soldiers  and  servants  ? 

Above,  on  the  mount,  as  the  sun  climbed  toward  the 
meridian,  was  seated  in  one  of  the  largest  of  the  tents 
a  man  of  resolute  and  stern  mien  who  gazed  reflectively 
toward  the  fertile  plain  outstretching  in  the  distance. 
His  grizzled  hair  told  of  the  after-prime  of  life;  he 
was  simply,  even  plainly,  dressed,  although  his  gar- 
ments were  of  fine  material,  and  from  his  neck  hung 
a  heavy  chain  of  gold.  His  doublet  lacked  the  pro- 
longed and  grotesque  peak,  and  was  less  puffed,  slashed 
and  banded  than  the  coat  worn  by  those  gallants  of 
the  day  who  looked  to  Italy  for  the  latest  extrava- 
gances of  fashion.  His  hat,  lying  carelessly  on  the 
table  at  his  elbow,  was  devoid  of  aigrette,  jewels  or 
plume;  a  head-covering  for  the  campaign  rather  than 
the  court.  Within  reach  of  his  hand  stood  a  heavy 
golden  goblet  of  massive  German  workmanship,  the 
solid  character  of  which  contrasted  with  the  drinking 
vessels  after  Cellini's  patterns  affected  by  Francis. 
This  he  raised  to  his  lips,  drank  deeply,  replaced  the 
goblet  on  the  table,  and  said  as  much  to  himself  as  to 
those  around  him : 


IN  TENT  OF  THE  EMPEROR   367 

"A  fair  land,  this  of  our  brother!  Small  wonder 
he  likes  to  play  the  host,  even  to  his  enemies.  We 
may  conquer  him  on  the  ensanguined  field,  but  he 
conquers  us — or  Henry  of  England! — on  a  field  of 
cloth  of  gold !" 

"But  for  your  Majesty  to  put  yourself  in  the  king's 
power?"  ventured  a  courtier,  who  wore  a  begemmed 
torsade  and  a  cloak  of  Genoa  velvet. 

The  monarch  leaned  back  in  his  great  chair  and  his 
face  grew  harsh.  As  he  sat  there  musing,  his  virility 
and  iron  figure  gave  him  rather  the  appearance  of  the 
soldier  than  the  emperor.  This  impression  his  sur- 
roundings further  emphasized,  for  the  walls  of  the  tent 
were  covered,  not  with  the  gorgeous-colored  Gobelins 
of  the  pleasure-loving  French,  but  with  severe  and 
stately  tapestries  from  his  native  Flanders,  depicting  in 
somber  shades  various  scenes  of  martial  triumph. 
When  he  raised  his  head  he  cast  a  look  of  ominous 
displeasure  upon  the  last  speaker. 

"Had  he  not  once  the  English  king  beneath  his 
roof?"  answered  the  monarch.  "At  Amboise,  where 
we  visited  Francis  some  years  ago,  was  there  any  re- 
straint put  upon  us  ?" 

A  grim  smile  crossed  his  features  at  the  recollection 
of  the  gorgeous  fetes  in  his  honor  on  that  other  oc- 
casion. Perhaps,  too,  he  thought  of  the  excitements 


368  UNDERTHEROSE 

held  out  by  those  servitors  of  the  king,  the  frail  and 
fair  ladies  of  the  court,  for  he  added : 

"Saints  et  saint es!  'twas  a  palace  of  pleasure,  not 
a  dungeon,  he  prepared  for  us.  But  enough  of  this ! 
It  is  time  we  rode  on.  Let  the  cavalcade,  with  the 
tents,  follow  behind." 

"Think  you,  your  Majesty,  if  the  princess  be  not 
yet  married  to  the  bastard,  she  is  like  to  espouse  the 
true  duke?"  asked  the  courtier,  as  a  soldier  left  the 
tent  to  carry  out  the  orders  of  the  emperor. 

Charles  arose  abruptly.  "Of  a  surety!  He  must 
have  loved  her  greatly,  else — " 

The  clattering  of  hoofs,  drawing  nearer,  interrupted 
the  emperor's  ruminations,  and,  wheeling  sharply,  he 
gazed  without.  A  band  of  horsemen  appeared  on  the 
mount. 

"The  outriders!"  he  said  in  surprise.  "Why  have 
they  returned?" 

"They  are  bearing  some  one  on  a  litter,"  answered 
the  attendant  noble,  "and — cap  de  Dieu — there  is  a 
woman  with  them!" 

As  the  troops  approached,  the  emperor  strode  for- 
ward. Out  in  the  sunlight  his  face  appeared  older, 
more  careworn,  but  although  it  cost  him  an  effort  to 
walk,  his  step  was  unfaltering.  A  moment  he  sur- 


IN  TENT  OF  THE  EMPEROR   369 

veyed  the  men  with  peremptory  glance,  and  then,  cast- 
ing one  look  at  their  burden,  uttered  an  exclamation. 
His  surprise,  however,  was  of  short  duration.  At 
once  his  features  resumed  their  customary  rigor. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked,  shortly,  address- 
ing the  leader  of  the  soldiers.     "Is  he  badly  hurt?" 
s     "That  I  can  not  say,  your  Majesty,"  replied  the 
man.     "A  horse   fell   upon  his  leg,   which  is  badly 
bruised,  and  there  may  be  other  injuries." 

"Where  did  you  find  him?"  continued  the  emperor, 
still  regarding  the  pale  face  of  the  plaisant. 

"Not  far  from  here,  your  Majesty.  The  woman 
was  sitting  in  the  road,  holding  his  head." 

Charles'  glance  swiftly  sought  the  jestress  and  then 
returned. 

"They  were  being  pursued,  for  shortly  after  we 
came  a  squad  of  men  appeared  from  the  opposite 
direction.  When  they  saw  us  they  fled.  The  woman 
insisted  upon  being  brought  here,  when  she  learned  of 
your  Majesty's  presence." 

"Take  the  injured  man  into  the  next  tent  and  see  he 
has  every  care.  As  for  the  woman,  I  will  speak  with 
her  alone." 

"Your  Majesty's  orders  to  break  camp — "  began  the 
courtier. 


370  UNDERTHEROSE 

"We  have  changed  our  mind  and  will  remain  here 
for  the  present."  And  the  emperor,  without  further 
words,  turned  and  reentered  his  pavilion. 

With  his  hands  behind  him,  he  stood  thoughtfully 
leaning  against  a  table;  his  countenance  had  become 
somber,  morose.  The  twinges  of  pain  from  a  disease 
which  afterward  caused  him  to  abdicate  the  throne 
and  relinquish  all  power  and  worldly  vanities  for  a  life 
of  religious  meditation  began  to  make  themselves  felt. 
Love — ambition — what  were  they?  The  perishable 
flesh — was  it  the  all-in-all?  Those  sudden  pangs  of 
the  body  seemed  like  over-forward  confessors  abruptly 
admonishing  him. 

The  jester  and  the  woman — Francis  and  the  princess 
— what  had  they  become  to  him  now?  Figures  in  an 
intangible,  illusory  dream.  Deeply  religious,  repent- 
ant, perhaps,  for  past  misdeeds  at  such  a  moment  as 
this,  the  soldier-emperor  stood  before  a  silver  crucifix. 

"Credo  in  sanctum,"  he  murmured,  with  contrite 
glance.  "How  repugnant  is  human  glory !  to  conquer 
the  earth ;  to  barter  what  is  immortal !  Carnis  resur- 
rectionem — " 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  tapestry,  and  glancing  from 
the  blessed  symbol,  he  saw  before  him,  kneeling  on  the 
rug,  the  figure  of  a  woman.  For  her  it  was  an  in- 
auspicious interruption.  With  almost  a  frown,  Charles, 


recalled  from  an  absorbing  period  of  oblation  and  self- 
examination,  surveyed  the  young  girl.  The  reflection 
of  dark  colors  from  the  hangings  and  tapestries  soft- 
ened the  pallor  of  her  face;  her  hair  hung  about  her 
in  disorder ;  her  figure,  though  meanly  garbed,  was 
replete  with  youth  and  grace.  Silent  she  continued 
in  the  posture  of  a  suppliant. 

"Well?"  said  the  monarch  finally,  in  a  harsh  voice. 

Slowly  she  lifted  her  head ;  her  dark  eyes  rested  on 
the  ruler  steadfastly,  fearlessly.  "Your  Majesty  com- 
manded my  presence,"  she  answered. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  he  asked  coldly. 

"I  am  called  Jacqueline;  my  father  was  the  Con- 
stable of  Dubrois." 

Incredulity  replaced  every  other  emotion  on  the 
emperor's  features,  and,  approaching  her,  he  gazed 
attentively  into  the  countenance  she  so  frankly  uplifted. 
With  calmness  she  bore  that  piercing  scrutiny;  his 
dark,  troubled  soul,  looking  out  of  his  keen  gray  eyes, 
met  an  equally  lofty  spirit. 

"The  Constable  of  Dubrois!  You,  his  daughter!" 
he  repeated. 

His  thoughts  swiftly  pierced  the  shadows  of  the 
past;  that  umbrageous  past,  darkened  with  war  and 
carnage;  the  memory  of  triumphs;  the  bitterness  of 
defeats!  And  studying  her  eyes,  her  face,  as  in  a 


372  UNDER   THE  ROSE 

vision  he  recalled  the  features,  the  bearing,  of  him 
who  had  held  himself  an  equal  to  his  old  rival,  Fran- 
cis. A  red  spot  rose  to  his  cheek  as  he  reviewed 
the  martial,  combative  days ;  the  game  of  arms  he  had 
played  so  often  with  Francis — and  won !  Not  always 
by  daring,  or  courage — rather  by  sagacity,  clear-head- 
edness, more  potent  than  any  other  force ! 

But  a  pang  of  bodily  suffering  reminded  him  of  the 
present  and  its  ills,  and  the  vainglory  of  brief  exulta- 
tion faded  as  quickly  as  it  had  assailed  him;  involun- 
tarily his  glance  sought  the  sacred  emblem  of  inter- 
cession. When  he  regarded  her  once  more  his  face 
had  resumed  its  severe,  uncompromising  aspect. 

"The  constable  was  a  proud,  haughty  man,"  he  said, 
brusquely.  "Yea,  over-proud,  in  fact.  You  know  why 
he  fled  to  me  ?" 

"Yes,  Sire,"  she  answered,  flushing  resentfully. 

"To  persuade  me  to  espouse  his  cause  against  the 
king.  Many  times  have  my  good  brother,  Francis, 
and  myself  gone  to  war,"  he  added,  reflectively  and  not 
without  a  certain  complacency,  "but  then  were  we  en- 
gaged in  troubles  in  the  east ;  to  keep  the  Mohamme- 
dans from  overrunning  our  Christian  land.  How 
could  I  oblige  the  constable  by  fighting  the  heathen 
and  the  believers  in  the  gospel  in  one  breath?  Your 
father — for  I  am  ready  to  believe  him  such,  by  the  evi- 


IN  TENT  OF  THE  EMPEROR   373 

dence  of  your  face,  and,  especially,  your  eyes — accused 
me  of  little  faith.  But  I  had  either  to  desert  him,  or 
Europe.  His  cause  was  lost ;  'twas  the  fortune  of  war ; 
the  fate  of  great  families  becomes  subservient  to  that 
of  nations." 

He  spoke  as  if  rather  presenting  the  case  to  himself 
than  to  her;  as  though  he  sought  to  analyze  his  own 
action  through  the  medium  of  time  and  the  trend  of 
larger  events.  Attentively  she  watched  him  with  deep, 
serious  eyes,  and,  catching  her  almost  accusing  look 
and  knowing  how,  perhaps,  he  shuffled  with  history, 
his  brow  grew  darker ;  he  was  visibly  annoyed  at  her — 
his  own  conscience — he  knew  not  what ! 

"I  did  not  complain,  your  Majesty,"  she  said 
proudly. 

Her  answer  surprised  him.  Again  he  observed  her 
attire ;  the  pallor  of  her  face ;  the  dark  circles  beneath 
her  eyes.  Grimly  he  marked  these  signs  of  poverty; 
those  marks  of  the  weariness  and  privations  she  had 
undergone. 

"Was  it  not  your  intention  to  seek  me  ?  To  beg  an 
asylum,  perhaps  ?"  he  went  on,  less  sternly. 

"Not  to  beg,  your  Majesty!  To  ask,  yes!  But 
now — not  that !" 

"Vrai  Dieu!"  muttered  Charles.  "There  is  the 
father  over  again!  It  is  strange  this  maiden  clothed 


374 

almost  in  rags  should  claim  such  illustrious  parentage," 
he  continued  to  himself,  as  he  walked  restlessly  to  and 
fro.  "It  is  more  strange  I  ask  no  other  proofs  than 
herself — the  evidence  of  my  eyes!  Where  did  you 
come  from?"  he  added,  aloud,  pausing  before  her. 
"The  court  of  Francis?" 

"Yes,  Sire." 

"Why  did  you  leave  the  king  ?" 

"Why — because — "  Her  hands  clenched.  The  gray 
eyes  continued  to  probe  her.  "Because  I  hate  him!" 

The  emperor's  face  relaxed;  a  gleam  of  humor 
shone  in  his  glance.  "Hate  him  whom  so  many  of 
your  sex  love  ?"  he  replied. 

Through  her  tresses  he  saw  her  face  turn  red ;  pas- 
sionately she  arose.  "With  your  Majesty's  permis- 
sion, I  will  go." 

"Go  ?"  he  said  abruptly.  "Where  can  you  go  ?  You 
are  somewhat  quick  of  temper,  like — .  Have  I  refused 
you  aught  ?  I  could  not  serve  your  father,"  he  contin- 
ued, taking  her  hand,  and,  not  ungently,  detaining  her, 
"but  I  may  welcome  his  daughter — though  necessity, 
the  ruler  of  kings,  made  me  helpless  in  his  behalf !" 

As  in  a  flash  her  resentment  faded.  Half-paternally, 
half-severely,  he  surveyed  her. 

"Sit  down  here,"  he  went  on,  indicating  a  low  stool. 
"You  are  weary  and  need  refreshment." 


IN  TENT  OF  THE  EMPEROR   375 

Silent  she  obeyed,  and  the  emperor,  touching  a  bell, 
gave  a  low  command  to  the  servitor  who  appeared. 
In  a  few  moments  meat,  fruits  and  wine  were  set  be- 
fore her,  and  Charles,  from  his  point  of  vantage — no 
throne  of  gold,  but  a  chair  lined  with  Cordovan 
leather,  watched  her  partake.  The  pains  had  again 
left  him ;  the  monk  gave  way  to  the  ruler ;  he  thought 
of  no  more  phrases  of  the  Credo,  but  with  impassive 
face  listened  to  her  story,  or  as  much  as  she  cared  to 
relate.  When  she  had  finished,  for  some  time  he 
offered  no  comment. 

"A  strange  tale,"  he  said  finally.  "But  what  will 
our  nobles  do  when  ladies  take  mere  fools  for  knight- 
errants  ?" 

"He  is  no  mere  fool !"  she  spoke  up,  impulsively. 

The  emperor  shot  a  quick  look  at  her  from  beneath 
his  lowering  brows. 

"I  mean — he  is  brave — and  has  protected  me  many 
times,"  she  explained  in  some  confusion. 

"And  so  you,  knowing  what  you  were,  remained — 
with  a  poor  jester — a  clown — rather  than  leave  him  to 
his  fate  ?"  continued  Charles,  inexorably,  recalling  the 
words  of  the  outriders. 

Her  face  became  paler,  but  she  held  her  head  more 
proudly;  the  spirit  of  the  jestress  sprang  to  her  lips, 


376  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

"It  is  only  kings,  Sire,  who  fear  to  cling  to  a  for- 
lorn cause !" 

His  eyes  grew  dark  and  gloomy ;  morosely  he  bent 
his  gaze  upon  her.  No  one  had  ever  before  dared  to 
speak  to  him  like  that,  for  Charles  had  no  love  for 
jesters,  and  kept  none  in  his  court.  Unsparing,  iron- 
handed,  he  had  gone  his  way.  But,  perhaps,  in  her 
very  fearlessness  he  recognized  a  touch  of  his  own 
inflexible  nature.  At  any  rate,  his  sternness  soon  gave 
way  to  an  expression  of  melancholy. 

"God  alone  knows  the  hearts  of  monarchs !"  He  said, 
somberly,  and  directed  his  glance  toward  the  crucifix. 

Moved  by  his  unexpected  leniency  and  the  aspect  of 
his  cheerlessness,  she  immediately  repented  of  her  re- 
sponse. He  looked  so  old,  and  melancholy,  this  great 
monarch.  When  he  again  turned  to  her  his  face  and 
manner  expressed  no  further  cognizance  of  her  reply. 

"You  need  rest,"  he  said,  "and  shall  have  a  tent  to 
yourself.  Now  go!"  he  continued,  placing  his  hand 
for  a  moment,  not  unkindly,  on  her  head.  "I  shall 
give  orders  for  your  entertainment.  It  will  be  rough 
hospitality,  but — you  are  used  to  that.  I  am  not  sorry, 
child,  you  hate  our  brother  Francis,  if  it  has  driven 
you  to  our  court." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

/ 

THE   DEBT   OF    NATURE 

Although  the  daughter  of  the  constable  received 
every  attention  commensurate  with  the  cheer  of  the 
camp,  the  day  passed  but  slowly.  With  more  or  less 
interest  she  viewed  the  diversified  group  of  soldiers, 
drawn  by  Charles  from  the  various  countries  over 
which  he  ruled:  the  brawny  troops  from  Flanders; 
the  alert-looking  guards,  recruited  from  the  mountains 
of  Spain;  the  men  of  Friedwald,  with  muscles  tough 
as  the  fibers  of  the  fir  in  their  native  forests.  Even 
the  Orient — suggestive  of  many  campaigns ! — had  been 
drawn  upon,  and  the  bright-garbed  olive-skinned  at- 
tendants, moving  among  the  tents  of  purple  or  crimson, 
blended  picturesquely  with  the  more  solid  masses  of 
color. 

For  the  Flemish"  soldiery,  who  Had  brought  the  fool 
and  herself  to  the  camp,  the  young  girl  had  a  nod  and 
a  word,  but  it  was  the  men  of  Friedwald  who  especially 
attracted  her  attention,  and  unconsciously  she  found 

377 


378  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

herself  picturing  the  land  that  had  fostered  this 
stalwart  and  rough  soldiery.  A  rocky,  rugged  region, 
surely;  with  vast  forests,  unbroken  brush!  Yonder 
armorer,  polishing  a  joint  of  steel,  seemed  like  a  sur~ 
vivor  of  that  primeval  epoch  when  the  trees  were  roofs 
and  the  ground  the  universal  bed.  Once  or  twice  she 
passed  him,  curiously  noting  his  great  beard  and  giant- 
like limbs.  But  he  minded  her  not,  and  this,  perhaps, 
gave  her  courage  to  pause. 

"What  sort  of  country  is  Friedwald?"  she  said, 
abruptly. 

"Wild,"  he  answered. 

"Is  the  duke  liked  ?"  she  went  on. 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  his — jester?" 

"No." 

For  all  the  information  he  would  volunteer,  the  man 
might  have  been  Doctor  Rabelais'  model  for  laconi- 
cism,  and  a  moment  she  stood  there  with  a  slight  frown. 
Then  she  gazed  at  him  meditatively ;  tap !  tap !  went  the 
tiny  Hammer  in  the  mighty  hand,  and,  laughing  softly, 
she  turned.  These  men  of  Friedwald  were  not  un- 
pleasing  in  her  eyes. 

Twice  had  she  approached  the  tent  wherein  lay  the 
fool,  only  to  learn  that  the  emperor  was  with  the 
'duke's  plaisant.  "A  slight  relapse  of  fever,"  had  said 


THE  DEBT  OF  NATURE         379 

the  Italian  leech,  as  he  blocked  the  entrance  and  stared 
at  her  with  wicked,  twinkling  eyes.  She  need  be  under 
no  apprehension,  he  had  added ;  but  to  her  quick  fancy 
his  glance  said :  "A  maid  wandering  with  a  fool !" 

Apprehension?  No;  it  could  not  be  that  she  felt 
but  a  new  sense  of  loneliness ;  of  that  isolation  which 
contact  with  strange  faces  emphasized.  What  had 
come  over  her?  she  asked  herself.  She  who  had  been 
so  self-sufficient ;  whose  nature  now  seemed  filled  with 
sudden  yearnings  and  restlessness,  impatience — she 
knew  not  what.  She  who  thought  she  had  partaken 
so  abundantly  of  life's  cup  abruptly  discovered  re- 
newed sources  for  disquietude.  With  welling  heart 
she  watched  the  sun  go  down ;  the  glory  of  the  widely- 
radiating  hues  give  way  to  the  pall  of  night.  Upon 
her  young  shoulders  the  mantle  of  darkness  seemed 
to  rest  so  heavily  she  bowed  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"A  maid  and  a  fool !  Ah,  foolish  maid !"  whispered 
the  wanton  breeze. 

The  pale  light  of  the  stars  played  upon  her,  and  the 
dews  fell,  until  involuntarily  shivering  with  the  cold, 
she  arose.  As  she  walked  by  the  emperor's  quarters 
she  noticed  a  figure  silhouetted  on  the  canvas  walls; 
to  and  fro  the  shadow  moved,  shapeless,  grotesque,  yet 
eloquent  of  life's  vexation  of  spirit.  Turning  into 
her  own  tent,  the  jestress  lighted  the  wick  of  a 


380  UNDERTHEROSE 

silver  lamp ;  a  faint  aroma  of  perfume  swept  through 
the  air.  It  seemed  to  soothe  her — or  was  it  but  weari- 
ness?— and  shortly  she  threw  herself  on  the  silken 
couch  and  sank  to  dreamless  slumber. 

When  she  awoke,  the  bright-hued  dome  of  the  tent 
was  aglow  in  the  morning  sun ;  the  reflected  radiance 
bathed  her  face  and  form ;  her  heaviness  of  heart  had 
taken  wings.  The  little  lamp  was  still  burning,  but  the 
fresh  fragrance  of  dawn  had  replaced  the  subtile  odor 
of  the  oriental  essence.  Upon  the  rug  a  single  streak 
of  sunshine  was  creeping  toward  her.  In  the  brazier 
which  had  warmed  her  tent  the  glowing  bark  and  cin- 
namon had  turned  to  cold,  white  ash. 

Through  the  girl's  veins  the  blood  coursed  rapidly ; 
a  few  moments  she  lay  in  the  rosy  effulgence,  restfully 
conscious  that  danger  had  fled  and  that  she  was  bul- 
warked by  the  emperor's  favor,  when  a  sudden 
thought  broke  upon  this  half-wakeful  mood,  and 
caused  her  to  spring,  all  alert,  from  her  couch.  To 
dress,  with  her  had  never  been  a  matter  of  great  dura- 
tion. The  hair  of  the  joculatrix  naturally  rippled  into 
such  waves  as  were  the  envy  of  the  court  ladies ;  her 
supple  fingers  adjusted  garment  after  garment  with 
swift  precision,  while  her  figure  needed  no  device  to 
lend  grace  to  the  investment. 

Soon,  therefore,  had  she  left  her  tent,  making  her 


THEDEBTOFNATURE         381 

way  through  the  awakening  camp.  In  the  royal 
kitchen  the  cook  was  bending  over  his  fires,  while  an 
assistant  mixed  a  beverage  of  barley-water,  yolks  of 
eggs  and  senna  wine  for  Charles  when  he  should  be- 
come aroused.  Those  courtiers,  already  astir,  cast 
many  glances  in  the  girl's  direction,  as  she  moved  to- 
ward the  tent  of  the  fool. 

But  if  these  gallants  were  sedulous,  she  was  cor- 
respondingly indifferent.  Anxiety  or  loyalty — that 
stanchness  of  heart  which  braved  even  the  ironical 
eyes  of  the  black-robed  master  of  medicine — drove 
her  again  to  the  ailing  jester's  tent,  and,  remembering 
how  she  had  ridden  into  camp — and  into  the  august 
emperor's  favor — these  fondlings  of  fortune  looked 
significantly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"A  jot  less  fever,  solicitous  maid,"  said  the  leech 
in  answer  to  the  inquiries  of  the  jestress,  and  she 
endured  the  glance  for  the  news,  although  the  former 
sent  her  away  with  her  face  aflame. 

"An  the  leech  let  her  in,  he'd  soon  have  to  let  the 
patient  out,"  spoke  up  a  gallant.  "Her  eyes  are  a 
sovereign  remedy,  where  bolus,  pills  and  all  vile  po- 
tions might  fail." 

"If  this  be  a  sample  of  Francis'  damsels,  I  care  not 
how  long  we  are  in  reaching  the  Low  Countries,"  an- 
swered a  second. 


382  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

To  this  the  first  replied  in  kind,  but  soon  had  these 
gallants  matters  of  more  serious  moment  to  divert 
them,  for  it  began  to  be  whispered  about  that  Louis  of 
Hochfels  had  determined  to  push  forward.  The  un- 
wonted activity  in  the  camp  ere  long  gave  credence 
to  the  rumor ;  the  troopers  commenced  looking  to  their 
weapons;  squires  hurried  here  and  there,  while  near 
the  tents  stood  the  horses,  saddled  and  bridled,  under- 
going the  scrutiny  of  the  grooms. 

Some  time,  however,  elapsed  before  the  emperor 
himself  appeared.  Nothing  in  the  bead-roll,  or  devo- 
tional offering  of  the  morning,  had  he  overlooked; 
the  divers  dishes  that  followed  had  been  scrupulously 
partaken  of,  and  then  only — as  a  man  not  to  be  hurried 
from  the  altar  or  the  table — had  he  emerged  from  his 
tent.  His  glance  mechanically  swept  the  camp,  noting 
the  bustle  and  stir,  the  absence  of  disorder,  and  finally 
rested  on  the  girl.  For  a  moment,  from  his  look,  it 
seemed  he  might  have  forgotten  her,  and  she  who  had 
involuntarily  turned  to  him  so  solicitously,  on  a  sudden 
felt  chilled,  as  confronted  by  a  mask.  His  voice,  when 
at  length  he  spoke,  was  hard,  dry,  matter-of-fact,  and  it 
was  Jacqueline  whom  he  addressed. 

"You  slept  well?" 

"Yes,  Sire,"  she  answered. 


THE  DEBT  OF  NATURE         383 

"And  have  already  been  to  the  fool's  tent,  I  doubt 
not." 

The  mask  became  half-quizzical,  half-friendly,  as 
her  cheeks  mantled  beneath  his  regard.  Was  it  but 
quiet  avengement  against  a  jestress  whose  tongue  had 
been  unsparing  enough,  even  to  him,  the  day  before? 
Certes,  here  stood  now  only  a  rosy  maid,  robbed  of 
her  spirit ;  or  a  folle,  struck  witless,  and  Charles'  face 
softened,  but  immediately  grew  stern,  as  his  mind 
abruptly  passed  from  wandering  jestress  and  fleeing 
fool  to  matters  of  more  moment. 

Under  vow  to  the  Virgin,  the  emperor  had  an- 
nounced he  would  not  draw  sword  himself  that  day, 
but,  seated  beneath  a  canopy  of  velvet,  overlooking  the 
valley,  he  so  far  compromised  with  conscience  as 
personally  to  direct  the  preparations  for  the  conflict. 
On  his  sable  throne,  surrounded  by  funereal  hang- 
Ings,  how  white  and  furrowed,  how  harassed  with 
many  cares,  he  appeared  in  the  glare  of  the  morn  to 
the  young  girl!  Was  this  he  who  held  nearly  all 
Europe  in  his  palm?  who  between  martial  commands 
talked  of  Holy  Orders,  the  Apostolic  See  and  the  Seven 
Sacraments  to  his  priestly  confessor  ? 

And  from  aloof  she  studied  him,  with  new  doubts 
and  misgiving,  her  thoughts  running  fast;  and  anon 


384  UNDERTHEROSE 

bent  her  eyes  to  the  hill  on  the  other  side  of  the  val- 
ley. In  her  condition  of  mind,  confused  as  before  a 
crisis,  it  was  a  distinct  relief  when  toward  noon  word 
was  brought  that  the  free  baron  was  approaching. 
Soon,  not  far  distant,  the  cortege  of  Louis  of  Hochfels 
was  seen;  at  the  front,  flashing  helmets  and  breast- 
plates ;  behind,  a  cavalcade  of  ladies  on  horseback  and 
litters,  above  which  floated  many  flags  and  banners. 

Would  he  come  on;  would  he  turn  back?  Many 
opinions  were  rife. 

"Oh,"  cried  a  page  with  golden  hair,  "there  will  be 
no  battle  after  all." 

And  truly,  confronted  by  the  aspect  of  the  em- 
peror's camp,  the  marauder  had  at  first  hesitated ;  but 
if  the  dangers  before  him  were  great,  those  behind 
were  greater.  Accordingly,  leaving  the  cavalcade  of 
the  princess,  her  maids  and  attendants,  the  free  baron 
of  Hochfels,  surrounded  by  his  own  trusted  troops, 
dashed  forward  arrogantly  into  the  valley,  bent  upon 
sweeping  aside  even  the  opposition  of  Charles  him- 
self. 

"Yonder's  a  daring  knave,  your  Majesty,"  with 
some  perturbation  observed  the  prelate  who  stood  near 
the  emperor's  chair. 

"Certes,  he  tilts  at  fame,   or  death,  with  a  bold 


THE  DEBT  OF  NATURE         385 

lance,"  replied  Charles.  "Would  that  Robert  of  Fried- 
wald  were  there  to  cry  him  quits." 

While  thus  he  spoke,  as  calm  as  though  secluded 
in  one  of  his  monastery  retreats,  weighing  the  affairs 
of  state,  nearer  and  nearer  drew  the  soldiers  of  the 
bastard  of  Pfalz-Urfeld ;  roughly  calculating,  a  force 
numerically  as  strong  as  the  emperor's  own  guard. 

The  young  girl,  her  face  now  white  and  drawn, 
watched  the  approaching  band.  Would  Charles  never 
give  the  signal?  Imperturbable  sat  the  mounted 
troopers  of  the  emperor,  awaiting  the  word  of  com- 
mand. At  length,  when  her  breath  began  to  come 
fast  and  sharp,  Charles  raised  his  arm.  In  a  solid, 
steady  body,  his  men  swept  onward.  The  girl  strove 
to  look  away,  but  could  not. 

Both  bands,  gaining  in  momentum,  met  with  a 
crash.  That  nice  symmetry  of  form  and  orderliness 
of  movement  was  succeeded  by  a  tangle  of  men  and 
horses ;  the  bristling  array  of  lances  had  vanished,  and 
swords  and  weapons  for  hand-to-hand  warfare  threw 
a  play  of  light  amid  the  jumble  of  troops  and  steeds, 
flags  and  banners.  With  sword  red  from  carnage, 
Louis  of  Hochfels  drew  his  men  around  him,  hurling 
them  against  the  firm  front  of  Charles'  veterans.  It 
was  the  crucial  moment ;  the  turning  point  in  a  strug- 


386  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

gle  that  could  not  be  prolonged,  but  would  be  rather 
sharp,  short  and  decisive.  If  his  men  failed  at  the  on- 
set, all  was  lost ;  if  they  gained  but  a  little  ascendancy 
now,  their  mastery  of  the  field  became  fairly  assured. 
Great  would  be  the  reward  for  success;  the  fruits  of 
victory — the  emperor  himself.  And  savagely  the  free 
baron  cut  down  a  stalwart  trooper;  his  blade  pierced 
the  throat  of  another. 

"Clear  the  way  to  Charles!"  he  cried,  exultantly. 
"He  is  our  guerdon." 

So  terrible  that  rush,  the  guard  of  Spain  on  the  right 
and  the  troops  of  Flanders  on  the  left  began  to  give 
way;  only  the  men  of  Friedwald  stood,  but  with  the 
breaking  of  the  forces  on  each  side  it  was  inevitable 
they,  too,  must  soon  be  overwhelmed.  Involuntarily, 
as  the  quick  eye  of  the  emperor  detected  this  sign  of 
impending  disaster,  he  half-started  from  his  chair. 
His  hand  sought  his  side;  in  his  eyes  shone  a  steely 
light.  The  prelate  quickly  crossed  himself  and  raised 
his  head  as  if  in  prayer. 

"The  penance,  Sire,"  he  murmured,  but  his  voice 
trembled. 

Mechanically  Charles  replaced  his  blade.  "Yea; 
better  a  kingdom  lost,"  he  muttered,  "than  a  broken 
vow." 

Yet,  after  so  many  battles  won  in  the  field  and  Diet ; 


THEDEBTOFNATURE         387 

after  titanic  contests  with  kings  in  Christendom,  and 
Solyman  in  the  east,  to  fall,  by  the  mockery  of  fate, 
into  the  grasp  of  a  thieving  mountain  rifler — 

"Ambition!  power!  we  sow  but  the  sand,"  whis- 
pered satiety. 

"Vainglory  is  a  sleeveless  errand,"  murmured  the 
spirit  of  the  flagellant. 

Yet  he  gazed  half-fiercely  at  his  priestly  adviser, 
when  suddenly  his  gloomy  eye  brightened ;  the  inutil- 
ity  of  ambition  was  forgotten;  unconsciously  he 
clasped  the  arm  of  the  joculatrix,  who  had  drawn  near. 
His  grip  was  like  a  gauntlet ;  even  in  her  tense,  strained 
mood  she  winced. 

"The  fight  is  not  yet  lost !"  he  exclaimed. 
.  As  he  spoke  the  figure  of  a  knight,  fully  armed,  who 
had  made  his  way  through  the  avenue  of  tents,  was 
seen  swiftly  descending  the  hill.  Upon  his  strong 
Arabian  steed,  the  rider's  appearance  and  bearing 
signaled  him  as  a  soldier  apart  from  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  guard.  His  coat-of-arms,  that  of  the  house 
of  Friedwald,  was  richly  emblazoned  upon  the  hous- 
ings of  his  courser.  Whence  had  he  come?  The  at- 
tendants and  equerries  had  not  seen  him  in  the  camp. 
Only  the  taciturn  armorer  of  Friedwald  looked  com- 
placently after  him,  stroking  his  great  beard,  as  one 
well  satisfied.  As  this  late-comer  approached  the 


388  UNDER   THE  ROSE 

scene  of  strife  the  flanks  of  the  guard  were  wavering 
yet  more  perilously. 

"A  miracle,  Sire !"  cried  the  prelate. 

"But  one  that  partakes  more  of  earth  than  Heaven," 
retorted  Charles,  with  ready  irony. 

"Who  is  he,  Sire?"  breathlessly  asked  the  young 
girl.  At  her  feet  whimpered  the  blue-eyed  page,  hold- 
ing to  her  skirt,  all  his  courage  gone. 

But  ere  he  could  answer — if  he  had  seen  fit  to  do  so 
— from  below,  out  of  the  vortex,  came  the  clamorous 
shouts : 

"The  duke!    The  duke!" 

The  master  of  the  mountain  pass  heard  also,  and 
felt  at  that  moment  a  sudden  thrill  of  premonition. 
The  guerdon ;  the  quittance ;  could  it  be  possible  after 
all,  the  end  was  not  far  ?  He  could  not  believe  it,  yet  a 
paroxysm  of  fury  seized  him ;  his  strength  became  re- 
doubled ;  wherever  his  sword  touched  a  trooper  fell. 

But  like  a  wave,  recovering  from  the  recoil,  the  sol- 
diers of  Friedwald  broke  upon  his  doomed  band  with 
a  force  manifold  augmented;  broke  and  carried  the 
flanks  with  it,  for  the  assaulting  parties  to  the  right 
and  left  were  dismayed  by  the  strength  unexpectedly 
hurled  against  the  center.  The  bulky  Flemish,  the 
lithe  Spaniard,  the  lofty  trooper  of  Friedwald,  over- 
flowed the  shattered  line  of  the  marauders. 


THE  DEBT  OF  NATURE         389 

"Duke  Robert !"  and  "Friedwald !"  shouted  the  Aus- 
trian band. 

"Cowards!  Would  you  give  way?"  cried  the  free 
baron,  striking  among  them.  "Fools!  Better  the 
sword  than  the  rope.  Come!" 

But  in  his  frenzied  efforts  to  rally  his  men  the  mas- 
ter of  Hochfels  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
leader  of  the  already  victorious  troops.  At  the  sight 
of  him  the  bastard  paused;  his  breast  rose  and  fell 
with  his  labored  breathing;  his  sword  was  dyed  red, 
also  his  arms,  his  clothes ;  from  his  forehead  the  blood 
ran  down  over  his  beard.  His  eyes  rolled  like  those  of 
an  animal ;  he  seemed  something  inhuman ;  an  incarna- 
tion of  baffled  purpose. 

"If  it  is  reprisal  you  want,  Sir  Duke,  you  shall  have 
it,"  he  panted. 

"Reprisal!"  exclaimed  Robert  of  Friedwald,  scorn- 
fully. "The  best  you  can  offer  is  your  life." 

And  with  that  they  closed.  Evading  the  strokes  of 
his  more  bulky  antagonist,  the  younger  man's  sword 
repeatedly  sought  the  vulnerable  part  of  the  other's 
armor.  The  free  baron's  strength  became  exhausted ; 
his  blows  rang  harmlessly,  or  struck  the  empty  air. 

A  sensation  of  pain  admonished  him  of  his  own  dis- 
ability. About  him  his  band  had  melted  away ;  dogged- 
ly had  they  given  up  their  lives  beneath  sword,  mace 


390  UNDERTHEROSE 

and  poniard.  The  ground  was  strewn  with  the  slain; 
riderless  horses  were  galloping  up  the  road.  The  free 
baron  breathed  yet  harder ;  before  his  eyes  he  seemed 
to  see  only  blood. 

Of  what  avail  had  been  his  efforts?  He  had  won 
the  princess,  but  how  brief  had  been  his  triumphs! 
With  a  belief  that  was  almost  superstition,  lie  had 
imagined  his  destiny  lay  thronewards.  But  the  curse 
of  his  birth  had  been  a  ban  to  his  efforts;  the  bitter- 
ness of  defeat  smote  him.  He  knew  he  was  falling; 
his  nerveless  hand  loosened  his  blade. 

"I  am  sped !"  he  cried ;  "sped !"  and  released  his  hold, 
while  the  tide  of  conflict  appeared  abruptly  to  sweep 
away. 

As  he  struck  the  earth  an  ornament  that  he  had 
worn  about  his  neck  became  unfastened  and  dropped 
to  the  ground.  But  once  he  moved;  to  raise  himself 
on  his  elbow. 

"The  hazard  of  the  die !"  he  muttered,  striving  to  see 
with  eyes  that  were  growing  blind.  A  rush  of  blood 
interrupted  him,  he  fell  back,  straightened  out,  and 
stirred  no  more. 

Now  had  the  din  of  strife  ceased  altogether,  when 
descending  the  slope  appeared  a  cavalcade,  at  the  head 
of  which  rode  a  lady  on  a  white  palfrey,  followed  by 
several  maids  and  guarded  by  an  escort  of  soldiers 


THE  DEBT  OF  NATURE         391 

who  wore  the  king's  own  colors.  A  stricken  proces- 
sion it  seemed  as  it  drew  near,  the  faces  of  the  women 
white  with  fear ;  the  gay  attire  and  gorgeous  trappings 
— a  mockery  on  that  ensanguined  arena. 

Proudly  proceeded  the  lady  on  the  white  horse,  al- 
though in  her  eyes  shone  a  look  of  dread.  It  was  an 
age  when  women  were  accustomed  to  scenes  of  blood- 
shed, inured  to  conflicts  in  the  lists ;  yet  she  shuddered 
as  her  palfrey  picked  its  way  across  that  field.  At  the 
near  side  of  the  hollow  her  glance  singled  out  a  mo- 
tionless figure  among  those  lying  where  they  had 
fallen,  a  thick-set  man,  whose  face  was  upturned  to 
the  sky.  One  look  into  those  glassy  eyes,  so  unre- 
sponsive to  her  own,  and  she  quickly  dismounted  and 
fell  on  her  knees  beside  the  recumbent  form.  She 
took  one  of  the  cold  hands  in  hers,  but  dropped  it  with 
a  scream. 

"Dead!"  she  cried ;  "dead !" 

The  lady  stared  at  that  terribly  repulsive  face.  For 
some  moments  she  seemed  dazed ;  sat  there  dully,  the 
onlookers  forbearing  to  disturb  her.  Then  her  gaze 
encountered  that  of  him  who  had  slain  the  free  baron 
and  she  sprang  to  her  feet.  On  her  features  an  ex- 
pression of  bewilderment  had  been  followed  by  one  of 
recognition. 

"The  duke's  fool!"  she  exclaimed  wildly.     "He  is 


392  UNDER  THE   ROSE 

dead,  and  you  have  killed  him!  The  fool  has  mur- 
dered his  master." 

"It  is  true  he  is  dead,"  answered  the  other,  leaning 
heavily  on  his  sword  and  surveying  the  inanimate 
form,  "but  he  was  no  master  of  mine." 

"That,  Madame  la  Princesse,  we  will  also  affirm," 
broke  in  an  austere  voice. 

Behind  them  rode  the  emperor,  a  dark  figure  among 
those  bright  gowns  and  golden  trappings,  the  saddle 
cloth  and  adornments  of  his  steed  somber  as  his  own 
garments.  As  he  spoke  he  waved  back  the  cavalcade, 
and,  in  obedience  to  the  gesture,  the  ladies,  soldiers 
and  attendants  withdrew  to  a  discreet  distance.  Bit- 
terly the  princess  surveyed  the  monarch ;  overwrought, 
a  torrent  of  reproaches  sprang  from  her  lips. 

"Why  has  your  Majesty  made  war  on  my  lord? 
Why  have  you  countenanced  his  enemies  and  harbored 
his  murderers  ?"  And  then,  drawing  her  figure  to  its 
full  height,  her  tawny  hair  falling  in  a  cloud  about  her 
shoulders:  "Be  sure,  Sire,  my  kinsman,  the  king,  will 
know  how  to  avenge  my  wrongs." 

"He  can  not,  Madam,"  answered  Charles  coldly. 
"They  are  already  avenged." 

"Already  avenged!"  she  exclaimed,  with  her  gaze 
upon  the  prostrate  figure. 


THE  DEBT  OF  NATURE         393 

"Yes,  Madam.  For  he  who  hath  injured  you  has 
paid  the  extreme  penalty." 

"He  who  was  my  husband  has  been  foully  mur- 
dered!" she  retorted,  vehemently.  "What  had  the 
Duke  of  Friedwald  done  to  bring  upon  himself  your 
Majesty's  displeasure?" 

"Nothing,"  answered  the  emperor,  more  gently. 

"Nothing !     And  yet  he  lies  there — dead !" 

"He  who  lies  before  you  is  not  the  duke,  but  Louis 
of  Hochfels,  the  bastard  of  Pfalz-Urfeld." 

"Ah,"  she  cried,  excitedly,  "I  see  you  have  been 
listening  to  the  false  fool,  his  murderer." 

An  expression  of  annoyance  appeared  on  the  em- 
peror's face.  He  liked  not  to  be  crossed  at  any  time 
by  any  one. 

"You  have  well  called  him  the  false  fool,  Madam," 
said  Charles,  curtly,  "for  he  is  no  true  fool." 

"And  yet  he  rode  with  your  troops !" 

"To  redeem  his  honor,  Madam." 

"His  honor!" 

With  a  scornful  face  she  approached  nearer  to  the 
monarch. 

"His  honor!    In  God's  name,  what  mean  you?" 

"That  the  false  fool,  Madam,  is  himself  the  Duke  of 
Friedwald!" 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

A    MAID   OF   FRANCE 

"The  Duke  of  Friedwald !" 

It  was  not  the  princess  who  thus  exclaimed,  but 
Jacqueline.  Charles  had  spoken  loudly,  and,  drawn 
irresistibly  to  the  scene,  she  had  caught  his  significant 
words  at  the  moment  she  recognized,  in  his  brave 
accoutrements,  him  whom  she  had  known  as  the  duke's 
fool. 

When  she  had  heard,  above  the  din  of  the  fray,  the 
cries  with  which  the  new-comer  had  been  greeted,  no 
suspicion  of  his  identity  had  crossed  her  mind.  She 
had  wondered,  been  puzzled  at  the  unexpected  ap- 
pearance of  Robert,  Duke  of  Friedwald,  but  that  he 
and  the  ailing  fool  were  one  and  the  same  was  wide 
from  her  field  of  speculation.  In  amazement,  she  re- 
garded the  knight  who  had  turned  the  tide  of  con- 
flict, and  then  started,  noticing  the  colors  he  wore,  a 
paltry  yellow  ribbon  on  his  arm,  the  badge  of  her 
office.  Much  she  had  not  understood  now  appeared 

394 


AMAIDOFFRANCE  395 

plain.  His  assurance  in  Fools'  hall ;  his  reckless  dar- 
ing ;  his  skill  with  the  sword.  He  was  a  soldier,  not  a 
jester;  a  lord,  not  a  lord's  servant. 

Lost  in  no  less  wonder,  the  princess  gazed  from 
the  free  baron  to  Charles,  and  back  again  to  the  lifeless 
form.  Stooping,  she  looked  steadfastly  into  the  face, 
as  though  she  would  read  its  secret.  Perhaps,  too,  as 
she  studied  those  features,  piece  by  piece  she  patched 
together  the  scenes  of  the  past.  Her  own  countenance 
began  to  harden,  as  though  some  part  of  that  mask  of 
death  had  fallen  upon  her,  and  when  she  glanced  once 
more  at  the  emperor  they  saw  she  no  longer  doubted. 
With  forced  self-control,  she  turned  to  the  emperor. 

"Doubtless,  it  is  some  brave  pastime,"  she  said  to 
Charles.  "Will  your  Majesty  deign  to  explain?" 

"Nay,"  answered  the  emperor,  dryly;  "that  thank- 
less task  I'll  leave  to  him  who  played  the  fool." 

Uncovering,  the  Duke  of  Friedwald  approached. 
The  excitement  of  the  contest  over,  his  pallid  features 
marked  the  effects  of  his  recent  injuries,  the  physical 
strain  under  which  he  had  labored.  Her  cold  eyes 
swept  over  him  haughtily,  inquiringly. 

"For  the  part  I  have  played,  Madam,"  he  said,  "I 
ask  your  forbearance.  If  we  both  labored  under  a  de- 
lusion, I  have  only  regret — " 


396  UNDERTHEROSE 

"Regret !"  Was  it  an  outburst  of  grief,  or  wound- 
ed pride  ?  He  flushed,  but  continued  firmly : 

"Madame  la  Princesse,  when  first  a  marriage  was 
proposed  between  us  I  was  younger  in  experience  if  not 
in  years  than  I  am  now ;  more  used  to  the  bivouac  or 
hunters'  camps  than  courts.  And  woman — "  he  smiled 
— "well,  she  was  a  vague  ideal.  At  times,  she  came 
to  me  when  sleeping  before  the  huntsman's  fire  in  the 
solitudes  of  the  forest;  again,  was  reflected  from  the 
pages  of  classic  lore.  She  seemed  a  part  of  the  woods 
and  the  streams,  for  by  ancient  art  had  she  not  been 
turned  into  trees  and  running  brooks?  So  she  whis- 
pered in  the  boughs  and  murmured  among  the  rushes. 
Mere  Schwarmerei.  Do  you  care  to  hear?  "Pis  the 
only  defense  I  can  offer." 

Her  contemptuous  blue  eyes  remained  fastened  on 
him ;  she  disdained  to  answer. 

"It  was  a  dreamer  from  brake  and  copse  who  went 
in  the  disguise  of  a  jester  to  be  near  her ;  to  win  her 
for  himself — and  then,  declare  his  identity.  Well  may 
you  look  scornful.  Love! — it  is  not  such  a  romantic 
quality — at  court.  A  momentary  pastime,  perhaps, 
but — a  deep  passion — a  passion  stronger  than  rank, 
than  death,  than  all — " 

Above  the  face  of  her  whom  he  addressed  his  glance 


AMAIDOFFRANCE  397 

rested  upon  Jacqueline,  and  he  paused.  The  princess 
could  but  note,  and  a  derisive  expression  crept  about 
her  mouth. 

"Once  I  would  have  told  you  all,"  he  resumed. 
"That  night — when  you  were  Lady  of  the  Lists. 
But—" 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  wishing  to  spare  her  t'He 
bitter  memory  of  her  own  acts.  Did  she  remember 
that  day,  when  she  had  been  queen  of  the  chaplet? 
When  she  had  crowned  him  whom  now  death  and  dis- 
honor had  overtaken  ? 

"The  rest,  Madam,  you  know — save  this."  And 
stooping,  he  picked  up  the  ornament  that  had 
dropped  from  Louis  of  Hochfels'  neck.  "Here, 
Princess,  is  the  miniature  you  sent  me.  He,  who  used 
you  so  ill,  stole  it  from  me  in  prison;  through  it,  he 
recognized  the  fool  for  the  duke;  with  an  assassin's 
blow  he  struck  me  down." 

A  moment  he  looked  at  that  fair  painted  semblance. 
Did  it  recall  the  past  too  vividly?  His  face  showed 
no  pain ;  only  tranquillity.  His  eye  was  rather  that  of 
a  connoisseur  than  a  lover.  He  smiled  gently;  then 
held  it  to  her. 

Mechanically  she  let  the  portrait  slip  through  her 
fingers,  and  it  fell  to  the  moistened  grass  near  the 


398  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

form  of  him  who  had  wedded  her.  Then  she  drew 
back  her  dress  so  that  it  might  not  touch  the  body  at 
her  feet. 

"Have  I  your  Majesty's  permission  to  withdraw?" 
she  said,  coldly. 

"If  you  will  not  accept  our  poor  escort  to  the  king," 
answered  Charles. 

"My  ladies  and  myself  will  dispense  with  so  much 
honor,  Sire,"  she  returned. 

"Such  service  as  we  can  command  is  at  your  dis- 
posal, Madam,"  he  repeated. 

"It  is  not  far  distant  to  the  chateau,  Sire." 

"As  you  will,"  said  the  emperor. 

With  no  further  word  she  bowed  deeply,  turned,  and 
slowly  retracing  her  steps,  mounted  her  horse,  and 
rode  away,  followed  by  her  maids  and  the  troopers 
of  France. 

As  she  disappeared,  without  one  backward  glance, 
the  duke  gazed  quickly  toward  the  spot  where  Jacque- 
line had  been  standing.  He  remembered  the  young 
girl  had  heard  his  story ;  he  had  caught  her  eyes  upon 
him  while  he  was  telling  it ;  very  deep,  serious,  judicial, 
they  seemed.  Were  they  weighing  his  past  infatua- 
tion for  the  princess;  holding  the  scales  to  his  acts? 
Swiftly  he  turned  to  her  now,  but  she  had  vanished. 
Save  for  rough  nurses,  companions  in  arms,  moving 


AMAIDOFFRANCE  399 

here  and  there  among  the  wounded,  he  and  the  em- 
peror stood  alone.  In  the  bushes  a  bird  which  had 
left  a  nest  of  fledglings  returned  and  caroled  among 
the  boughs;  a  clarifying  melody  after  the  mad  pas- 
sions of  the  day.  The  elder  man  noted  the  direction 
of  the  duke's  glance,  the  yellow  ribbon  on  his  arm. 

"So  it  was  a  jestress,  not  a  princess  you  found, 
thou  dreamer,"  he  said,  half-ironically. 

"The  daughter  of  the  Constable  of  Dubrois,  Sire," 
was  the  reply. 

The  emperor  nodded.  "The  family  colors  have 
changed,"  he  observed  dryly. 

"With  fortune,  Sire." 

"Truly,"  said  Charles,  "fortune  is  a  jestress.  She 
had  like  to  play  on  us  this  day.  But  your  fever?" 
he  added,  abruptly,  setting  his  horse's  head  toward 
camp. 

"Is  gone,  Sire,"  answered  the  duke,  riding  by  his 
side. 

"And  your  injuries?" 

"Were  so  slight  they  are  forgotten." 

"Then  is  the  breath  of  battle  better  medicine  than 
nostrum  or  salve.  In  youth,  'tis  the  sword-point;  in 
age,  turn  we  to  the  hilt-cross.  But  this  maid — have 
you  won  her?" 


400  UNDERTHEROSE 

The  young  man  changed  color.  "Won  her,  Sire?" 
he  replied.  "That  I  know  not — no  word  has  passed — " 

"No  word,"  said  the  emperor,  doubtingly.  "A 
knight-errant  and  a  castleless  maid!" 

The  duke  vouchsafed  no  answer. 

"Humph!"  added  Charles.  "Thus  do  our  plans 
come  to  naught.  If  you  got  her,  and  wore  her,  what 
end  would  be  served  ?" 

"No  end  of  state,  perhaps,  Sire." 

"Why,"  observed  the  monarch,  "the  state  and  the 
faith — what  else  is  there?  But  go  your  way.  How 
smooth  it  may  be  no  man  can  tell." 

"Is  the  road  like  to  be  rougher  than  it  has  been, 
Sire?" 

"The  maid  belongs  to  France,"  answered  Charles, 
"and  France  belongs  to  the  king." 

"The  king !"  exclaimed  the  duke,  fiercely. 

Involuntarily  had  they  drawn  rein  in  the  shade  of 
a  tiny  thicket  overlooking  the  valley.  Even  from  this 
slight  exercise,  bowed  and  weary  appeared  the  em- 
peror's form.  The  hand  which  controlled  his  steed 
trembled,  but  the  lines  of  his  face  spoke  of  unweak- 
ened  sinew  of  spirit,  the  iron  grip  of  a  will  that  only 
death  might  loosen. 

"The  king!"  repeated  the  young  man.     "He  is  no 


AMAIDOFFRANCE  401 

king  of  mine,  nor  hers.  To  you,  Sire,  only,  I  owe 
allegiance,  or  my  life,  at  your  need." 

A  gentler  expression  softened  the  emperor's  fea- 
tures, as  a  gleam  of  sunshine  forces  itself  into  the  som- 
berest  forest  depths. 

"We  have  had  our  need,"  he  said.  "Not  long  since." 
His  glance  swept  the  outlook  below.  "Heaven  watches 
over  monarchs,"  he  added,  turning  a  keen,  satirical 
look  on  the  other,  "but  through  the  vigilance  of  our 
earthly  servitors." 

The  duke's  response  was  interrupted  by  the  appear- 
ance below  of  a  horseman,  covered  with  dust,  riding 
toward  them,  and  urging  his  weary  steed  up  the  in- 
cline with  spur  and  voice.  Deliberately  the  monarch 
surveyed  the  new-comer. 

"What  make  you  of  yonder  fellow  ?"  he  said.  "He 
is  not  of  the  guard,  nor  of  the  bastard's  following." 

"His  housings  are  the  color  of  France,  Sire." 

"Then  can  I  make  a  shrewd  guess  of  his  purpose," 
observed  the  monarch. 

As  he  spoke  the  horseman  drew  nearer  and  a  mo- 
ment later  had  stopped  before  the  emperor. 

"A  message  from  the  king,  Sire!"  exclaimed  the 
man,  dismounting  and  kneeling  to  present  a  for- 
midable-looking document,  with  a  great  disk  of  lead 
through  which  a  silken  string  was  drawn. 


402  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

Breaking  the  seal,  the  emperor  opened  the  missive. 
"It  is  well,"  he  said  at  length,  folding  the  parchment. 
"The  king  was  even  on  his  way  to  the  chateau  to 
await  our  coming,  when  he  met  Caillette  and  received 
our  communication.  Go  you  to  the  camp" — to  the 
messenger — "where  we  shall  presently  return."  And 
as  the  man  rode  away :  "The  king  begs  we  will  con- 
tinue our  journey  at  our  leisure,"  he  added,  "and  an- 
nounces he  will  receive  us  at  the  chateau." 

"And  have  I  your  permission  to  return  to  Fried- 
wald,  Sire  ?"  asked  the  other  in  a  low  voice. 

"Alone?" 

"Nay;  I  would  conduct  the  constable's  daughter 
there  to  safety." 

"And  thus  needlessly  court  Francis'  resentment? 
Not  yet." 

The  young  man  said  no  word,  but  his  face  hardened. 

"Tut!"  said  the  emperor,  dryly,  although  not  un- 
kindly. "Where's  fealty  now?  Fine  words;  fine 
words !  A  slender  chit  of  a  maid,  forsooth.  Without 
lands,  without  dowry ;  with  naught — save  herself." 

"Is  she  not  enough,  Sire?" 

"Francis  is  more  easily  disarmed  in  his  own  castle 
by  his  own  hospitality  than  in  the  battle-field,"  ob- 
served Charles,  without  replying  to  this  question.  "In 
field  have  we  conquered  him ;  in  palace  hath  he  con- 


AMAIDOFFRANCE  403 

quered  himself,  and  our  friendship.  Therefore  will 
you  and  the  maid  return  in  our  train  to  the  king's 
court." 

"At  your  order,  Sire." 

But  the  young  man's  voice  was  cold,  ominous. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   FAVORITE  IS  ALARMED 

Thus  it  befell  that  both  Robert  of  Friedwald  and 
Jacqueline  accompanied  the  emperor  to  the  little  town, 
the  scene  of  their  late  adventures,  and  that  they  who 
had  been  fool  and  joculatrix  rode  once  more  through 
the  street  they  had  ne'er  expected  to  see  again.  The 
flags  were  flying;  cannon  boomed;  they  advanced  be- 
neath wreaths  of  roses,  the  way  paved  with  flowers. 
Standing  at  the  door  of  his  inn,  the  landlord  dropped 
his  jaw  in  amazement  as  his  glance  fell  upon  the  jes- 
tress  and  her  companion  behind  the  great  emperor  him- 
self. His  surprise,  too,  was  abruptly  voiced  by  a  rag- 
ged, wayworn  person  not  far  distant  in  the  crowd, 
whose  fingers  had  been  busy  about  the  pockets  of  his 
neighbors ;  fingers  which  had  a  deft  habit  of  working  by 
themselves,  while  his  eyes  were  bent  elsewhere  and  his 
lips  joined  in  the  general  acclaim;  fingers  which  like 
antennae  seemed  to  have  a  special  intelligence  of  their 
own.  Now  those  long  weapons  of  abstraction  and 

404 


THE  FAVORITE   IS   ALARMED    405 

appropriation  ceased  their  deft  work;  he  became  all 
eyes. 

"Good  lack !  Who  may  the  noble  gentleman  behind 
the  emperor  be?"  he  exclaimed.  "Surely  'tis  the 
duke's  fool." 

"And  ride  with  the  emperor?"  said  a  burly  citizen 
at  his  elbow.  "  'Tis  thou  who  art  the  fool." 

"Truly  I  think  so,"  answered  the  other.  "I  see; 
believe ;  but  may  not  understand." 

At  that  moment  the  duke's  gaze  in  passing  chanced 
to  rest  upon  the  pinched  and  over-curious  face  of  the 
scamp-student;  a  gleam  of  recollection  shone  in  his 
glance.  "Gladius  gemmatus!"  cried  the  scholar,  and 
a  smile  on  the  noble's  countenance  told  him  he  had 
heard.  Turning  the  problem  in  his  mind,  the  vagrant- 
philosopher  forgot  about  pilfering  and  the  procession 
itself,  when  a  soldier  touched  him  roughly  on  the 
shoulder. 

"Are  you  the  scamp-student  ?"  said  the  trooper. 

"Now  they'll  hang  me  with  these  spoils  in  my  pock- 
ets," thought  the  scholar.  But  as  bravely  as  might 
be,  he  replied :  "The  former  I  am ;  the  latter  I  would 
be." 

"Then  the  Duke  of  Friedwald  sent  me  to  give  you 
this  purse,"  remarked  the  man,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word.  "He  bade  me  say  'tis  to  take  the  place  of  a 


406  UNDERTHEROSE 

bit  of  silver  you  once  did  not  earn."  And  the  trooper 
vanished. 

"Well-a-day !"  commented  the  burly  citizen,  regard- 
ing the  gold  pieces  and  the  philosopher  in  wonder- 
ment of  his  own.  "You  may  be  a  fool,  but  you  must 
be  an  honest  knave." 

At  the  chateau  the  meeting  between  the  two  mon- 
archs  was  unreservedly  cordial  on  both  sides.  They 
spoke  with  satisfaction  of  the  peace  now  existing  be- 
tween them  and  of  other  matters  social  and  political. 
The  emperor  deplored  deeply  the  untimely  demise  of 
Francis'  son,  Charles,  who  had  caught  the  infection 
of  plague  while  sleeping  at  Abbeville.  Later  the 
misalliance  of  the  princess  was  cautiously  touched 
upon.  That  lady,  said  Francis  gravely,  to  whom  the 
gaieties  of  the  court  at  the  present  time  could  not 
fail  to  be  distasteful,  had  left  the  chateau  immediately 
upon  her  return.  Ever  of  a  devout  mind,  she  had 
repaired  to  a  convent  and  announced  her  intention 
of  devoting  herself,  and  her  not  inconsiderable  fortune, 
to  a  higher  and  more  spiritual  life.  Charles,  who  at 
that  period  of  his  lofty  estates  himself  hesitated  be- 
tween the  monastery  and  the  court,  applauded  her 
resolution,  to  which  the  king  perfunctorily  and  but 
half-heartedly  responded. 

Shortly  after,  the  emperor,  fatigued  by  his  journey, 


THE   FAVORITE   IS    ALARMED    407 

begged  leave  to  retire  to  his  apartments,  whither  he 
went,  accompanied  by  his  "brother  of  France"  and 
followed  by  his  attendants.  At  the  door  Francis,  with 
many  expressions  of  good  will,  took  leave  of  his  royal 
guest  for  the  time  being,  and,  turning,  encountered 
the  Duke  of  Friedwald. 

Francis,  himself  once  accustomed  to  assume  the  dis- 
guise of  an  archer  of  the  royal  guard  the  better  to  pur- 
sue his  love  follies  among  the  people,  now  gazed  curi- 
ously upon  one  who  had  befooled  the  entire  court. 

"You  took  your  departure,  my  Lord,"  said  the  king, 
quietly,  "without  waiting  for  the  order  of  your  going." 

"He  who  enacts  the  fool,  your  Majesty,  without 
patent  to  office  must  needs  have  good  legs,"  replied  the 
young  man.  "Else  will  he  have  his  fingers  burnt." 

"Only  his  fingers?"  returned  the  monarch  with  a 
smile,  somewhat  sardonic. 

"Truly,"  thought  the  other,  as  Francis  strode 
away,  "the  king  regrets  the  fool's  escape  from  Notre 
Dame  and  the  fagots." 

During  the  next  day  Charles  called  first  for  his 
leech  and  then  for  a  priest,  but  whether  the  former  or 
the  latter,  or  both,  temporarily  assuaged  the  restless- 
ness of  mortal  disease,  that  night  he  was  enabled  to  be 
present  at  the  character  dances  given  in  his  honor  by 


408  UNDERTHEROSE 

the  ladies  of  the  court  in  the  great  gallery  of  the 
chateau. 

At  a  signal  from  the  cornet,  gitterns,  violas  and 
pipes  began  to  play,  and  Francis  and  his  august  guest, 
accompanied  by  Queen  Eleanor,  and  the  emperor's 
sister,  Marguerite  of  Navarre,  entered  the  hall,  fol- 
lowed by  the  dauphin  and  Catharine  de  Medici,  Diane 
de  Poitiers,  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes;  marshal,  chan- 
cellor and  others  of  the  king's  friends  and  counselors ; 
courtiers,  poets,  jesters,  philosophers;  a  goodly  com- 
pany, such  as  few  monarchs  could  summon  at  their 
beck  and  call.  Charles'  eye  lighted;  even  his  austere 
nature  momentarily  kindled  amid  that  brilliant  specta- 
cle; Francis'  palace  of  pleasure  was  an  intoxicating 
antidote  to  spleen  or  hypochondria.  And  when  the 
court  ladies,  in  a  dazzling  band,  appeared  in  the  dance, 
led  by  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes,  he  openly  expressed 
his  approval. 

"Ah,  Madam,"  he  said  to  the  Queen  of  Navarre, 
"there  is  little  of  the  monastery  about  our  good  broth- 
er's court." 

"Did  your  Majesty  expect  we  should  cloister  you?" 
she  answered,  with  a  lively  glance. 

He  gazed  meditatively  upon  the  "Rose  of  Valois," 
or  the  "Pearl  of  the  Valois,"  as  she  was  sometimes 
called;  then  a  shadow  fell  upon  him;  the  futility  of 


THE  FAVORITE   IS   ALARMED    409 

ambition ;  the  emptiness  of  pleasure.  In  scanty  attire, 
the  Duchesse  d'Etampes,  with  the  king,  flashed  before 
him;  the  fornier,  all  beauty,  all  grace,  her  little  feet 
trampling  down  care,  so  lightly.  Somberly  he  watched! 
her,  and  sighed.  Mentally  he  compared  himself  to 
Francis;  they  had  traveled  the  road  of  life  together, 
discarding  their  youth  at  the  same  turn  of  the  high- 
way; yet  here  was  his  French  brother,  indefatigable 
in  the  pursuit  of  merriment,  while  his  own  soul  sang 
miserere  to  the  tune  of  Francis'  fiddles.  Yet,  had  he 
overheard  the  conversation  of  the  favorite  and  the 
king,  the  emperor's  moodiness  would  not,  perhaps, 
have  been  unmixed  with  a  stronger  feeling. 

"Sire,"  the  duchess  was  saying  in  her  most  per- 
suasive manner,  "while  you  have  Charles — once  your 
keeper — in  your  power,  here  in  the  chateau,  you  will 
surely  punish  him  for  the  past  and  avenge  yourself? 
You  will  make  him  revoke  the  treaty  of  Madrid,  or 
shut  him  up  in  one  of  Louis  XI's  oubliettes  ?" 

"I  will  persuade  him  if  I  can,"  replied  the  king  cold- 
ly, "but  never  force  him.  My  honor,  Madam,  is  dearer 
to  me  than  my  interests." 

The  favorite  said  no  more  of  a  cherished  project, 
knowing  Francis*  temper  and  his  stubbornness  when 
crossed.  She  merely  shrugged  her  white  shoulders 
and  watched  him  closely.  The  monarch  had  not 


4io  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

scrupled  once  to  break  his  covenant  with  Charles,  hold- 
ing that  treaties  made  under  duress,  by  force  majeure, 
were  legally  void,  while  now —  But  the  king  was 
composed  of  contradictions,  or — was  her  own  influence 
waning? 

She  had  observed  a  new  expression  cross  his  counte- 
nance when  in  the  retinue  of  the  emperor  he  had  noted 
the  daughter  of  the  constable;  such  a  tenderness  as 
she  remembered  at  Bayonne  when  the  king  had  looked 
upon  her,  the  duchess,  for  the  first  time.  When  she 
next  spoke  her  words  were  the  outcome  of  this  train 
of  thought. 

"To  think  the  jestress,  Jacqueline,  should  turn  out 
the  daughter  of  that  traitor,  the  Constable  of  Dubrois," 
she  observed,  keenly. 

"A  traitor,  certainly,"  said  Francis,  "but  also  a 
brave  man.  Perhaps  we  pressed  him  too  hard,"  he 
added  retrospectively.  "We  were  young  in  years  and 
hot-tempered." 

"Your  Majesty  remembers  the  girl — a  dark- 
browed,  bold  creature?"  remarked  the  duchess,  smil- 
ing amiably. 

"Dark-browed,  perhaps,  Madam;  but  I  observed 
nothing  bold  in  her  demeanor,"  answered  the  king. 

"What!  a  jestress  and  not  bold!  A  girl  who  fre- 
quented Fools'  hall ;  who  ran  away  from  court  with  the 


THE   FAVORITE   IS   ALARMED    411 

plaisant!"  She  glanced  at  him  mischievously,  like  a 
wilful  child,  but  before  his  frown  the  smile  faded; 
involuntarily  she  clenched  her  hands. 

"Madam,"  he  replied  cynically,  "I  have  always  no- 
ticed that  women  are  poor  judges  of  their  own  sex." 

And  conducting  her  to  a  seat,  he  raised  her  jeweled 
fingers  perfunctorily  to  his  lips,  and,  wheeling  abrupt- 
ly, left  her. 

"Ah!"  thought  Triboulet,  ominously,  who  had  been 
closely  observing  them,  "the  king  is  much  displeased." 

Had  the  duchess  observed  the  monarch's  lack  of 
warmth?  At  any  rate,  somewhat  perplexedly  she  re- 
garded the  departing  figure  of  the  king;  then  hum- 
ming lightly,  turned  to  a  mirror  to  adjust  a  ringlet 
which  had  fallen  from  the  golden  net  binding  her 
tresses. 

"Mere  de  Dieu!  woman  never  held  man — or  king — 
by  sighing,"  she  thought,  and  laughed,  remembering 
the  Countess  of  Chateaubriant ;  a  veritable  Niobe  when 
the  monarch  had  sent  her  home. 

But  Triboulet  drew  a  wry  face ;  his  little  heart  was 
beating  tremulously;  dark  shadows  crossed  his  mind. 
Two  portentous  stars  had  appeared  in  the  horoscope 
of  his  destiny :  he  who  had  been  the  foreign  fool ;  she 
who  was  the  daughter  of  the  constable.  Almost  fierce- 
ly the  hunchback  surveyed  the  beautiful  woman  before 


412  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

him.  With  her  downfall  would  come  his  own,  and  he 
believed  the  king  had  wearied  of  her.  How  hateful 
was  her  fair  face  to  him  at  that  moment!  Already 
in  imagination  he  experienced  the  bitterness  of  the  fall 
from  his  high  estates,  and  shudderingly  looked  back 
to  his  own  lowly  beginning:  a  beggarly  street-player 
of  bagpipes ;  ragged,  wretched,  importuning  passers-by 
for  coppers ;  reviled  by  every  urchin.  But  she,  meet- 
ing his  glance  and  reading  his  thought,  only  clapped 
her  hands  recklessly. 

"How  unhappy  you  look,"  she  said. 

"Madam,  do  you  think  the  duke — "  he  began. 

"I  think  he  will  cut  off  your  head,"  she  exclaimed, 
and  Triboulet  turned  yellow ;  but  a  few  moments  later 
took  heart,  the  duchess  was  so  lightsome. 

"By  my  sword — if  I  had  one — our  jestress  has  made 
a  triumphant  return,"  commented  Caillette  as  he  stood 
with  the  Duke  of  Friedwald  near  one  of  the  windows, 
surveying  the  animated  scene.  "Already  are  some  of 
the  ladies  jealous  as  Barbary  pigeons.  Her  appear- 
ance has  been  remarked  by  the  Due  de  Montrin  and 
other  gentlemen  in  attendance,  and — look!  Now  the 
great  De  Guise  approaches  her.  Here  one  belongs  to 
everybody." 

The  other  did  not  answer  and  Caillette  glanced 
quickly  at  him.  "You  will  not  think  me  over-bold,"  he 


THE  FAVORITE   IS   ALARMED    413 

went  on,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "if  I  mention 
what  is  being  whispered — by  them?"  including  in  a 
look  and  the  uplifting  of  his  eyebrows  the  entire  court. 

The  duke  laid  his  hand  warmly  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  poet-fool.  "Is  there  not  that  between  us  which 
precludes  the  question?" 

"I  should  not  venture  to  speak  about  it,"  continued 
Caillette,  meeting  the  duke's  gaze  frankly,  "but  that 
you  once  honored  me  with  your  confidence.  That  I 
was  much  puzzled  when  I  met  you  and — our  erstwhile 
jestress — matters  not.  'Twas  for  me  to  dismiss  my 
wonderment,  and  not  strive  to  reconcile  my  neighbor's 
affairs.  But  when  I  hear  every  one  talking  about  my 
— friend,  it  is  no  gossip's  task  to  come  to  him  with  the 
unburdening  of  the  prattle." 

"What  are  they  saying,  Caillette?"  asked  the  duke, 
in  his  eyes  a  darker  look. 

"That  you  would  wed  this  maid,  but  that  the  king 
will  use  his  friendly  offices  with  Charles  to  prevent  it." 

"And  do  they  say  why  Francis  will  so  use  his  in- 
fluence?" continued  the  other. 

"Because  of  the  claim  such  a  union  might  give  an 
alien  house  to  a  vast  estate  in  France ;  the  confiscated 
property  of  the  Constable  of  Dubrois.  And — but  the 
other  reason  is  but  babble,  malice — what  you  will." 
And  Caillette's  manner  quickly  changed  from  grave 


414  UNDERTHEROSE 

to  frivolous.  "Now,  au  revoir;  I'm  off  to  Fools'  hall," 
he  concluded.  "Whenever  it  becomes  dull  for  you, 
seek  some  of  your  old  comrades  there."  And  laugh- 
ing-, Caillette  disappeared. 

Thoughtfully  the  duke  continued  to  observe  the 
jestress.  Between  them  whirled  the  votaries  of  pleas- 
ure ;  before  him  swept  the  fragrance  of  delicate  per- 
fumes; in  his  ears  sounded  the  subtile  enticement  of 
soft  laughter.  Her  face, wore  a  proud,  self-reliant  ex- 
pression ;  her  eyes  that  look  which  had  made  her  seem 
so  illusive  from  the  inception  of  their  acquaintance. 
And  now,  since  his  identity  had  been  revealed,  she  had 
seemed  more  puzzling  to  him  than  ever.  When  he 
had  sought  her  glance,  her  look  had  told  him  nothing. 
It  was  as  though  with  the  doffing  of  the  motley  she  had 
discarded  its  recollections.  In  a  tentative  mood,  he 
had  striven  to  fathom  her,  but  found  himself  at  a  loss. 
She  had  been  neither  reserved,  nor  had  she  avoided 
him ;  to  her  the  past  seemed  a  page,  lightly  read  and 
turned.  Had  Caillette  truly  said  "now  she  belonged 
to  the  world"  ? 

Stepping  upon  one  of  the  balconies  overlooking  the 
valley,  the  duke  gazed  out  over  the  tranquil  face  of  na- 
ture, his  figure  drawn  aside  from  the  flood  of  light 
within.  Between  heaven  and  earth,  the  chateau  reared 
its  stately  pile,  and  far  downward  those  twinkling 


THE   FAVORITE   IS   ALARMED    415 

flashes  represented  the  town ;  yonder  faint  line,  like  a 
dark  thread,  the  encircling  wall.  Above  the  gate 
shone  a  glimmer  from  the  narrow  casement  of  some 
officer's  quarters ;  and  the  jester's  misgivings  when 
they  had  ridden  beneath  the  portcullis  into  the  town 
for  the  first  time,  recurred  to  him ;  also,  the  glad  haste 
with  which  they  had  sped  away. 

Memories  of  dangers,  of  the  free  and  untrammeled 
character  of  their  wandering,  that  day-to-day  intimacy, 
and  night-to-night  consciousness  of  her  presence 
haunted  him.  Her  loyalty,  her  fine  sense  of  comrade- 
ship, her  inherent  tenderness,  had  been  revealed  to 
him.  Still  he  seemed  to  feel  himself  the  jester,  in  the 
gathering  of  fools,  and  she  a  ministralissa,  with  dark, 
deep  eyes  that  baffled  him. 

The  sound  of  voices  near  the  window  aroused  him 
from  this  field  of  speculation,  voices  that  abruptly 
riveted  his  attention  and  held  it:  the  king's  and 
Jacqueline's. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE   FAVORITE   IS   REASSURED 

The  young-  man's  brow  drew  dark;  tumultuous 
thoughts  filled  his  brain ;  Caillette's  words,  Brusquet's 
rhymes,  confirming  his  own  conviction,  rankled  in  his 
mind.  This  king  dared  arrogate  a  law  absolute  unto 
himself ;  its  statutes,  his  own  caprices ;  its  canons,  his 
own  pretensions?  The  duke  remembered  the  young 
girl's  outburst  against  the  monarch  and  a  feeling  of 
hatred  arose  in  his  breast ;  his  hand  involuntarily 
sought  his  sword,  the  blade  of  Francis'  implacable 
enemy. 

"We  have  heard  your  story,  my  child,  from  our 
brother,  the  emperor,"  the  king  was  saying,  "and  al- 
though your  father  rebelled  against  his  monarch,  we 
harbor  it  not  against  the  daughter." 

"Sire,"  she  answered,  in  a  low  tone,  "I  regret  the 
emperor  should  have  acquainted  you  with  this  mat- 
ter." 

"You  have  no  cause  for  fear,"  Francis  replied,  mis- 
416 


417 

interpreting  her  words.  She  offered  no  response,  and 
the  duke,  moving  into  the  light,  observed  the  king 
was  regarding  the  young  girl  intently,  his  tall  figure 
conspicuous  above  the  courtiers. 

Flushed,  Jacqueline  looked  down;  the  white-robed 
form,  however,  very  straight  and  erect;  her  hair,  un- 
trammeled  with  the  extreme  conventions  of  the  day ;  a 
single  flower  a  spot  of  color  amid  its  abundance.  Even 
the  duchess — be  jeweled,  bedecked,  tricked  out — in  her 
own  mind  had  pronounced  the  young  girl  beautiful, 
and  there  surely  was  no  mistaking  the  covert  admira- 
tion of  the  monarch  as  his  glance  encompassed  her. 
Despite  her  assumed  composure,  it  was  obvious  to  the 
duke,  however,  that  only  by  a  strong  effort  had  she 
nerved  herself  to  that  evening's  task;  the  red  hue  on 
her  cheeks,  the  brightness  of  her  eyes,'  told  of  the  sup- 
pressed excitement  her  manner  failed  to  betray. 

"Why  should  you  leave  with  Charles?"  continued 
Francis.  "Perhaps  were  we  over-hasty  in  confiscating 
the  castle  of  the  constable.  Vrai  Dieu"  he  added, 
meditatively.  "Had  he  unbent  but  a  little!  Mar- 
guerite told  us  we  were  driving  him  to  despair,  but  the 
queen  regent  and  the  rest  of  our  counselors  pre- 
vailed— "  He  broke  off  abruptly  and  directed  a  bolder 
gaze  to  hers.  "May  not  a  monarch,  Mademoiselle, 
undo  what  he  has  done  ?" 


4i8  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Even  a  king  can  not  give  life  to  the  dead,"  she  re- 
plied, and  her  voice  sounded  hard  and  unyielding. 
f     "No,"  he  assented,  moodily,  "but  it  would  not  be 
impossible  to  restore  the  castle — to  his  daughter." 
;     "Sire!"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise;  then  shook  her 
head.     "With  your  Majesty's  permission,  I  shall  leave 
with  the  emperor." 

;  Francis  made  an  impatient  movement;  her  inflex- 
ibility recalled  one  who  long  ago  had  renounced  his 
fealty  to  the  throne;  her  resistance  kindled  the  flame 
that  had  been  smoldering  in  his  breast. 
'  "But  if  I  have  pointed  out  to  the  emperor  that  your 
proper  station  is  here  ?"  he  went  on.  "If  he  recognizes 
that  it  would  be  to  your  disadvantage  to  divert  that 
destiny  which  lies  in  France  ?" 

His  words  were  measured ;  his  manner  tinged  with 
seeming  paternal  interest ;  but,  as  tKrougK  a  mask,  she 
discerned  his  face,  cynical,  libidinous,  the  countenance 
of  a  Sybarite,  not  a  king.  The  air  became  stifling ;  the 
ribaldry  of  laughter  enveloped  her;  instinctively  she 
glanced  around,  and  her  restless,  troubled  gaze  fell 
upon  the  duke. 

What  was  it  he  read  in  her  eyes?  A  confession  of 
insecurity,  fear;  a  mute  appeal?  Before  it  all  his 
doubts  and  misgivings  vanished;  the  look  they  ex- 


THE  FAVORITE  REASSURED    419 

changed  was  like  that  when  she  had  stood  on  the  stair- 
case in  the  inn. 

Upon  the  monarch,  engrossed  in  his  purpose,  it  was 
lost.  If  silence  give  consent,  then  had  she  already 
acquiesced  in  a  wish  which,  from  a  king,  became  a 
demand.  But  Francis,  ever  complaisant,  with  an  in- 
consistent chivalry  worthy  of  the  subterfuge  of  his 
character,  desired  to  appear  forbearing,  indulgent. 

"For  your  own  sake,"  he  added,  "must  we  refuse 
that  permission  you  ask  of  us." 

She  did  not  answer,  and,  noting  the  direction  of  her 
gaze,  the  eager  expectancy  written  on  her  face,  Fran- 
cis turned  sharply.  At  the  same  time  the  duke 
stepped  forward. 

The  benignity  faded  from  the  king's  manner;  his 
countenance,  which  "at  no  time  would  have  made  a 
man's  fortune,"  became  rancorous,  caustic ;  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  appeared  almost  updrawn  to  his  nostrils. 
He  had  little  reason  to  care  for  the  duke,  and  this  in- 
terruption, so  flagrant,  menacing  almost,  did  not  tend 
to  enhance  his  regard.  In  nowise  daunted,  the  young 
man  stood  before  him. 

"I  trust,  Sire,  your  Majesty  will  reconsider  your  de- 
cision ?" 

With  a  strained  look  the  young  girl  regarded  them. 


420  UNDERTHEROSE 

To  what  new  dangers  had  she  summoned  him  ?  Was 
not  she,  the  duke,  even  the  emperor  himself,  in  the 
power  of  the  king,  for  the  present  at  least?  And 
knowing  well  Francis'  headstrong  passions,  his  vio- 
lence when  crossed,  it  was  not  strange  at  that  moment 
her  heart  sank;  she  felt  on  the  brink  of  an  abyss;  a 
nameless  peril  toward  which  she  had  drawn  the  com- 
panion of  her  flight.  It  seemed  an  endless  interval 
before  the  monarch  spoke. 

"Ah,  you  heard!"  remarked  Francis  at  length, 
satirically. 

"Inadvertently,  Sire,"  answered  the  duke.  His 
voice  was  steady,  his  face  pale,  but  in  his  blue  eyes  a 
glint  as  of  fire  came  and  went.  Self-assurance  marked 
his  bearing;  dignity,  pride.  He  looked  not  at  the 
young  girl,  but  calmly  met  the  scrutiny  of  the  king. 
The  latter  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot ;  then  sud- 
denly stared  hard  at  a  sword  whose  hilt  gleamed  even 
brighter  than  his  own,  and  was  fashioned  in  a  form 
that  recalled  not  imperfectly  a  hazard  of  other  days. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  blade  ?"  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"From  the  daughter  of  the  Constable  of  Dubrois." 

"Why  did  she  give  it  to  you?" 

"To  protect  her,  Sire." 

The  monarch's  countenance  became  more  thought- 
ful; less  acrimonious.  How  the  present  seemed  in- 


THE   FAVORITE  REASSURED    421 

volved  in  the  past!  Were  kings,  then,  enmeshed  in 
the  web  of  their  own  acts?  Were  even  the  gods  not 
exempt  from  retributory  justice?  Those  were  days  of 
superstition,  when  a  coincidence  assumed  the  impor- 
tance of  inexorable  destiny. 

"Once  was  it  drawn  against  me,"  said  Francis,  re- 
flectively. 

"I  trust,  Sire,  it  may  never  again  be  drawn  by  an 
enemy  of  your  Majesty." 

The  king  did  not  reply,  but  stood  as  a  man  who  yet 
took  counsel  with  himself. 

"By  what  right,"  he  asked,  finally,  "do  you  speak 
for  the  lady?" 

A  moment  the  duke  looked  disconcerted.  "By 
what  right?" 

Then  swiftly  he  regarded  the  girl.  As  quickly — a 
flash  it  seemed — her  dark  eyes  made  answer,  their  lan- 
guage more  potent  than  words.  He  could  but  un- 
derstand ;  doubt  and  misgiving  were  forgotten ;  the 
hesitation  vanished  from  his  manner.  Hastily  cross- 
ing to  her  side,  he  took  her  hand  and  unresistingly  it 
lay  in  his.  His  heart  beat  faster ;  her  sudden  acquies- 
cence filled  him  with  wonder;  at  the  same  time,  his 
task  seemed  easier.  To  protect  her  now !  The  king 
coughed  ironically,  and  the  duke  turned  from  her  to 
him. 


422  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"By  what  right,  your  Majesty?"  he  said  in  a  voice 
which  sounded  different  to  Francis.  "This  lady  is  my 
affianced  bride,  Sire." 

Pique,  umbrage,  mingled  in  the  expression  which 
replaced  all  other  feeling  on  the  king's  countenance  as 
he  heard  this  announcement.  With  manifest  displeas- 
ure he  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Is  this  true,  Mademoiselle  ?"  he  asked,  sternly. 

Her  cheek  was  red,  but  she  held  herself  bravely. 

"Yes,  Sire,"  she  said. 

A  new  emotion  leaped  to  the  duke's  face  as  he  heard 
her  lips  thus  fearlessly  confirm  the  answer  of  her  eyes. 
And  so  before  the  monarch — in  that  court  which  Mar- 
guerite called  the  Court  of  Love — they  plighted  their 
troth. 

Something  in  their  manner,  however,  puzzled  the 
observant  king;  an  exaltation,  perhaps,  uncalled  for 
by  the  simple  telling  of  a  secret  understanding  be- 
tween them;  that  rapid  interchange  of  glances;  that 
significance  of  manner  when  the  duke  stepped  to  her 
side.  Francis  bit  his  lips. 

"Ma  foil"  he  exclaimed,  sharply.  "This  is  some- 
what abrupt.  How  long,  my  Lord,  since  she  promised 
to  be  your  wife  ?" 

"Since  your  Majesty  spoke,"  returned  the  duke, 
tranquilly. 


THE  FAVORITE  REASSURED    423 

"And  before  that?" 

"Before  ?    I  only  knew  that  I  loved  her,  Sire." 

"And  now  you  know,  for  the  first  time,  that  she 
loves  you?"  added  the  king,  dryly.  "But  the  em- 
peror— are  you  not  presuming  overmuch  that  he  will 
give  his  consent?  Or  think  you" — with  fine  irony — 
"that  marriages  of  state  are  made  in  Heaven  ?" 

"It  was  once  my  privilege,  Sire,  so  to  serve  the  em- 
peror, as  his  Majesty  thought,  that  he  bade  me  ask  of 
him  what  I  would,  when  I  would.  Heretofore  have  I 
had  nothing  to  ask ;  now,  everything." 

Some  of  the  asperity  faded  from  Francis'  glance. 
The  situation  appealed  to  his  strong  penchant  for 
merry  plaisanterie.  Besides — such  was  his  overween- 
ing pride — to  hear  a  woman  confess  she  cared  for  an- 
other dampened  his  own  ardor,  instead  of  stimulating 
it.  "None  but  himself  could  be  his  parallel;"  the 
royal  lover  could  brook  no  rival.  Had  she  merely  de- 
sired to  marry  the  former  fool — the  Countess  of  Cha- 
teaubriant  had  had  a  husband — but  to  love  him ! 

After  all,  she  was  but  an  audacious  slip  of  a  girl ;  a 
dark-browed,  bold  gipsy ;  by  nature,  intended  for  the 
motley — yes,  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes  was  right. 
Then,  he  liked  not  her  parentage ;  she  was  a  constant 
reminder  of  one  who  had  been  like  to  make  vacant  the 
throne  of  France,  and  to  destroy,  root  and  branch, 


424  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

the  proud  house  of  Orleans.  Moreover,  whispered 
avarice,  he  would  save  the  castle  for  himself ;  a  stately 
and  right  royal  possession.  He  had,  indeed,  been 
over-generous  in  proffering  it.  Love,  said  reason, 
was  unstable,  flitting ;  woman,  a  will-o'-the-wisp ;  but  a 
castle — its  noble  solidity  would  endure.  At  the  same 
time,  policy  admonished  the  king  that  the  duke  was  a 
subject  of  his  good  brother,  the  emperor,  and  a  rich, 
powerful  noble  withal.  So  with  such  grace  as  he  could 
command  Francis  greeted  one  whom  he  preferred  to 
regard  as  an  ally  rather  than  an  enemy. 

"Truly,  my  Lord,"  he  said  not  discourteously,  mask- 
ing in  a  courtly  manner  his  personal  dislike  for  him 
whose  sharp  criticism  he  once  had  felt  in  Fools'  hall, 
"a  nimble- witted  jester  was  lost  when  you  resumed  the 
dignity  of  your  position.  But,"  he  added  cautiously, 
as  a  sudden  thought  moved  him,  "this  lady  has  ap- 
peared somewhat  unexpectedly;  the  house  of  Fried- 
wald  is  not  an  inconsequential  one." 

"What  mean  you,  Sire?"  asked  the  young  man,  as 
the  king  paused. 

Francis  studied  him  shrewdly.  "Why,"  he  replied 
at  length,  hesitatingly,  "there  is  that  controversy  of 
the  Constable  of  Dubrois ;  certain  lands  and  a  castle, 
long  since  rightly  confiscated." 


THE  FAVORITE  REASSURED    425 

"Your  Majesty,  there  is  another  castle,  and  lands  to 
spare,  in  a  distant  country,"  returned  the  duke  quick- 
ly. "These  will  suffice." 

"As  you  will,"  said  the  king  in  a  livelier  tone. 
"For  the  future,  command  our  good  offices — since  you 
have  made  us  sponsor  of  your  fortunes." 

With  which  well-covered  confession  of  his  own  de- 
feat, Francis  strode  away.  As  he  turned,  however, 
he  caught  the  smile  of  the  Duchesse  d'Etampes  and 
crossed  to  her  graciously. 

"Your  dress  becomes  you  well,  Anne,"  he  said. 

She  glanced  down  at  herself  demurely;  her  lashes 
veiled  a  sudden  gleam  of  triumph.  "How  kind  of 
you,  Sire,  to  notice — my  poor  gown." 

"I  was  right,"  murmured  Triboulet,  joyfully,  as  he 
saw  king  and  favorite  walking  together.  "No  one 
will  ever  replace  the  duchess." 

Silent,  hand  in  hand,  the  duke  and  the  joculatrix 
stood  upon  the  balcony.  Below  them  lay  the  earth, 
wrapped  in  hazy  light.  Behind  them,  the  court,  with 
its  glamour. 

"Have  I  done  well,  Jacqueline,  to  answer  the  king 
as  I  have  done  ?"  he  said  finally.  "Are  you  content  to 
resign  all — forever — here  in  France?  To  go  with 
me—" 


426  UNDER   THE   ROSE 

"Into  a  new  world,"  she  interrupted.  "Once  I  asked 
you  to  take  me,  but  you  hesitated,  and  were  like  to 
leave  me  behind  you." 

"But  now  'tis  I  who  ask,"  he  answered. 

"And  I — who  hesitate?"  looking  out  over  the  val- 
ley, where  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  crossed  the  land. 

"Do  you  hesitate,  Jacqueline?" 

She  turned.  About  her  lips  trembled  the  old  fleeting 
smile. 

"What  woman  knows  her  mind,  Sir  Fool?  Yet  if 
it  were  not  so — " 

"If  it  were  not  so?"  he  said,  eagerly. 

Her  eyes  became  grave  on  a  sudden.  "I  might  be- 
lieve I  had  been  of  one  mind — long." 

"Jacqueline ! — sweet  jestress ! — " 

He  caught  her  suddenly  in  his  arms,  his  fine  young 
features  aglow.  This  then  was  the  goal  of  his  de- 
sires; a  goal  of  delight,  far,  far  beyond  all  youthful 
dreams  or  early  imaginings.  With  drooping  eyelids, 
she  stood  in  his  embrace ;  she,  once  so  proud,  so  self- 
willed.  He  drew  her  closer — kissed  her  hair! — the 
rose ! — 

She  raised  her  head,  and — sweeter  still — he  kissed 
her  lips. 

Across  the  valley  the  shadow  receded;  vanished. 
In  the  full  glory  of  nightly  splendor  lay  the  earth,  and 


THE  FAVORITE  REASSURED    427 

as  the  mystic  radiance  lighted  up  a  world  of  beauty, 
it  seemed  at  last  they  beheld  their  world;  the  light 
more  beautiful  for  the  shade  and  the  purple  mists. 


A  LIST  of  IMPORTANT  FICTION 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


It  is  fresh  and  spontaneous,  having  nothing  of 

that  wooden  quality  which  is  becoming 

associated   with    the    term 

"  historical  novel." 


HEARTS 
COURAGEOUS 

By  HALLIE  ERMINIE  RIVES 


"  Hearts  Courageous  "  is  made  of  new  material,  a  pic- 
turesque yet  delicate  style,  good  plot  and  very  dramatic 
situations.  The  best  in  the  book  are  the  defence  of  George 
Washington  by  the  Marquis  ;  the  duel  between  the  English 
officer  and  the  Marquis ;  and  Patrick  Henry  flinging  the 
brand  of  war  into  the  assembly  of  the  burgesses  of  Virginia. 
Williamsburg,  Virginia,  the  country  round  about,  and 
the  life  led  in  that  locality  just  before  the  Revolution,  form 
an  attractive  setting  for  the  action  of  the  story. 

With  six  illustrations  by  A.  B.  Wenzell 
i2mo.     Price,  $1.50 


The    Bobbs- Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


THE  GREAT  NOVEL  OF  THE  YEAR 

THE  MISSISSIPPI 
BUBBLE 

How  the  star  of  good  fortune  rose  and  set  and  rose 

again,  by  a  woman*  s  grace,  for  one 

John  Law,  of  Lauriston 

A  novel  by  EMERSON  HOUGH 


Emerson  Hough  has  written  one  of  the  best  novels  that  has 
come  out  of  America  in  many  a  day.  It  is  an  exciting  story, 
with  the  literary  touch  on  every  page. 

— JEANNETTE  L.  GILDER,  of  The  Critic. 

In  "The  Mississippi  Bubble"  Emerson  Hough  has  taken 
John  Law  and  certain  known  events  in  his  career,  and  about 
them  he  has  woven  a  web  of  romance  full  of  brilliant  coloring 
and  cunning  work.  It  proves  conclusively  that  Mr.  Hough 
Is  a  novelist  of  no  ordinary  quality. — The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

As  a  novel  embodying  a  wonderful  period  in  the  growth  of 
America  "The  Mississippi  Bubble"  is  of  intense  interest.  As 
a  love  story  it  is  rarely  and  beautifully  told.  John  Law,  as 
drawn  in  this  novel,  is  a  great  character,  cool,  debonair,  auda- 
cious, he  is  an  Admirable  Crichton  in  his  personality,  and  a 
Napoleon  in  his  far-reaching  wisdom. — The  Chicago  American. 

The  Illustrations  by  Henry  Hutt 
izmo,  452  pages,  $1.50 


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YOUTH,  SPLENDOR  AND  TRAGEDY 

FRANC EZKA 

By  MOLLY  ELLIOT  SEAWELL 


There  is  no  character  in  fiction  more  lovable  and  appeal- 
ing than  is  Francezka.  Miss  Seawell  has  told  a  story  of  youth, 
splendor  and  tragedy  with  an  art  which  links  it  with  summer 
dreams,  which  drowns  the  somber  in  the  picturesque,  which 
makes  pain  and  vice  a  stage  wonder. 

The  book  is  marked  by  the  same  sparkle  and  cleverness  of 
the  author's  earlier  work,  to  which  is  added  a  dignity  and  force 
which  makes  it  most  noteworthy. 


"  Here  is  a  novel  that  not  only  provides  the  reader  with  a 
succession  of  sprightly  adventures,  but  furnishes  a  narrative 
brilliant,  witty  and  clever.  The  period  is  the  first  half  of  that 
most  fascinating,  picturesque  and  epoch-making  century,  the 
eighteenth.  Francezka  is  a  winsome  heroine.  The  story  has 
light  and  shadow  and  high  spirits,  tempered  with  the  gay, 
mocking,  debonair  philosophy  of  the  time." — Brooklyn  Times. 

Charmingly  illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 

Bound  in  green  and  white  and  gold 

I  zmo,  cloth.      Price,  $1.50 


The    Bobbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


A  BRILLIANT  AND  SERIOUS  NOVEL 

CHILDREN  OF 
DESTINY 

By   MOLLY    ELLIOT    SEAWELL 

Author  of  Francezka  and  The  Sprightly  Romance  of  Marsac. 


One  of  Miss  Seawell's  most  brilliant  and  serious  works  is 
this  novel  of  Old  Virginia.  One  lives  again  the  patrician  ele- 
gance of  those  mannerly  times  with  all  their  freedom  and  all 
their  limitations.  In  the  midst  of  those  quiet  people — some 
rich  in  worldly  goods,  all  rich  in  their  birth  and  station — is 
born  a  man  with  the  unrest  of  genius.  Miss  Seawell's  power- 
ful delineations  of  this  man's  character,  her  charming  presen- 
tation of  the  old  days,  her  sprightly  humor,  playing  on  the 
foibles  of  these  early  nineteenth  century  aristocrats,  the  tender- 
ness and  beautiful  love  of  her  heroine,  show  her  as  a  brilliant 
writer  and  deep  thinker.  In  none  of  her  other  books  is  her 
art  so  true  and  her  touch  so  poised. 

With  six  Illustrations  by  A.  B.  Wenzell  and  a 

Cover  in  Blue  and  Geld. 
izmo,  Cloth,  Price,  $1.50 


The    Bobbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


A  SPLENDIDLY  VITAL  NARRATION 

THE  MASTER  OF 
APPLEBY 

A  romance  of  the  Carolina* 
By  FRANCIS  LYNDE 


Viewed  either  as  a  delightful  entertainment  or  as 
a  skilful  and  finished  piece  of  literary  art,  this  is 
easily  one  of  the  most  important  of  recent  novels. 
One  can  not  read  a  dozen  pages  without  realizing 
that  the  author  has  mastered  the  magic  of  the  story- 
teller's art.  After  the  dozen  pages  the  author  is 
forgotten  in  his  creations. 

It  is  rare,  indeed,  that  characters  in  fiction  live 
and  love,  suffer  and  fight,  grasp  and  renounce  in 
so  human  a  fashion  as  in  this  splendidly  vital  nar- 
ration. 

With  pictures  by  T.  de  Thulstrup 
I  zmo,  cloth.      Price,  $1.50 


The    Bpbbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


WHAT  BOOK  BY  A  NEW  AUTHOR  HAS 
RECEIVED  SUCH  PRAISE? 


WHAT  MANNER 

OF  MAN 

By  EDNA  KENTON 


The  novel,  "  What  Manner  of  Man,"  is  a  study  of  what 
is  commonly  known  as  the  "artistic  temperament,"  and  a 
novel  so  far  above  the  average  level  of  merit  as  to  cause  even 
tired  reviewers  fo  sit  up  and  take  hope  once  more. 

— Neiv  fork  Times. 

It  will  certainly  stand  out  as  one  of  the  most  notable  novels 
of  the  year. — Philadelphia  Press. 

It  does  not  need  a  trained  critical  faculty  to  recognize  that 
this  book  is  something  more  than  clever. — N.  Y.  Commercial. 

Note  should  be  made  of  the  literary  charm  and  value  of  the 
work,  and  likewise  of  its  eminently  readable  quality,  considered 
purely  as  a  romance. — Philadelphia  Record. 

Literary  distinction  is  stamped  on  every  page, and  the  author's 
Insight  into  the  human  heart  gives  promise  of  a  brilliant  future. 
— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

The  whole  book  is  full  of  dramatic  force.  The  author  is 
in  unusual  thinker  and  observer,  and  has  a  rare  gift  for  creative 
literature. — Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

(t  What  Manner  of  Man  "  is  a  study  and  a  creation. 

— N.  Y,  World, 

izmo,  Cloth,  Gilt  Top,  $1.50 


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A  NEW  NOTE   IN  FICTION 

THE  STROLLERS 

By  FREDERIC  S.  ISHAM 


*  The  Strollers  "  is  a  novel  of  much  merit. 

The  seines  are  laid  in  that  picturesque  and  interesting 
period  of  American  life— the  last  of  the  stage-coach  days— 
the  days  of  the  strolling  player. 

The  author,  Frederic  S.  Isham,  gives  a  delightful  and 
accurate  account  of  a  troop  of  players  making  a  circuit  in 
the  wilderness  from  New  York  to  New  Orleans,  travelling  by 
stage,  carrying  one  wagon  load  of  scenery,  playing  In  town 
halls,  taverns,  barns  or  whatnot. 

"  The  Strollers  "  is  a  new  note  in  fiction. 

With  eight  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher 
i2mo.       Price,  $1.50 


The    Bobbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


"NOTHING.  BUT    PRAISE" 

LAZARRE 

By  MARY  HARTWELL  CATHERWOOD 


Glorified  by  a  beautiful  love  story. — Chicago  Tribune. 

We  feel  quite  justified  in  predicting  a  wide-spread  and 
prolonged  popularity  for  this  latest  comer  into  the  ranks  of 
historical  fiction,  —  The  N.  V.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

After  all  the  material  for  the  story  had  been  collected  a 
year  was  required  for  the  writing  of  it.  It  is  an  historical 
romance  of  the  better  sort,  with  stirring  situations,  good  bits 
of  character  drawing  and  a  satisfactory  knowledge  of  the 
tone  and  atmosphere  of  the  period  involved. — N.  Y.  Herald. 

Lazarre,  is  no  less  a  person  than  the  Dauphin,  Louis 
XVII.  of  France,  and  a  right  royal  hero  he  makes.  A  prince 
who,  for  the  sake  of  his  lady,  scorns  perils  in  two  hemis- 
pheres, facing  the  wrath  of  kings  in  Europe  and  the  bullets 
of  savages  in  America;  who  at  the  last  spurns  a  kingdom  that 
he  may  wed  her  freely— here  is  one  to  redeem  the  sins  of  evea 
those  who  "never  learn  and  never  forget."— Philadelphia 
North  American 

With  six  Illustrations  by  Andr£  Castaigne 
12  mo.       Price,  $1,50 


The    Bobbs-Merrill    Company,    Indianapolis 


"THE  MERRIEST  NOVEL  OF  MANY, 
MANY  MOONS " 


MY  LADY  PEGGY 
GOES  TO  TOWN 


The  Daintiest  and    Most  Delightful  Book 
of  the  Season. 


A  heroine  almost  too  charming  to  be  true  is  Peggy,  and 
it  were  a  churlish  reader  who  is  not,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
chapter,  prostrate  before  her  red  slippers. —  Washington  Post. 

To  make  a  comparison  would  be  to  rank  "My  Lady 
Peggy"  with  "Monsieur  Beaucaire"  in  points  of  attraction, 
and  to  applaud  as  heartily  as  that  delicate  romance,  this 
picture  of  the  days  "When  patches  nestled  o'er  sweet  lips 
at  chocolate  times." — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

12  mo.      Beautifully  illustrated  and  bound. 
Price,  $1.25  net 

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University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


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